


It’s Dark Upstairs

by FlightOfTheSilverbird



Series: Dark Minds Duology [1]
Category: Glass (2019), Split (2016)
Genre: AHS: Murder House AU, Abuse, Abuse of Authority, Abusive Parents, Aged-Down Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Armchair Therapy, Attempted Suicide, Basically this isn’t a fun time in several parts. Like at all., Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Bullying, Car Accidents, Car Chases, Child Abuse, Corpse Desecration, Crime Scenes, Disturbing Themes, Domme Casey Cooke, Dreams and Nightmares, Eating Disorders, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description of Corpses, High School AU, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inaccurate Christianity, Light Bondage, Marijuana, Medical Inaccuracies, Memes, Murder, No DID AU, Not sexually though., Oral Sex, Out of Body Experiences, Panic Attacks, Partners in Crime, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prom, Public Display of Affection, Public School System, Recreational Drug Use, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Riding, Scars, Sexual Harassment, Supernatural Elements, Teenage Drama, Teenage Rebellion, Therapy, Trust Issues, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Verbal Abuse, car theft, criminal activity, criminal justice system, grave desecration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 35
Words: 81,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlightOfTheSilverbird/pseuds/FlightOfTheSilverbird
Summary: Casey Cooke went into her senior year knowing it would suck. Living with her uncle, a psychiatrist whose empathy only extends so far as his paycheck, already proved that, and she finds herself struggling to keep her sanity in check between his poor excuses for parenting and ongoing psychological issues in his house. However, her life is turned upside down when she meets Kevin Crumb, her uncle’s newest patient sent on court order after murdering his abusive mother. With him, she not only realizes that she is not alone, but that this sentiment may extend to the source of her nightmares as well...
Relationships: Barry & Jade (Split), Casey Cooke & Barry (Split), Casey Cooke & Jade (Split), Casey Cooke & Patricia (Split), Casey Cooke/Kevin Wendell Crumb, Claire Benoit & Casey Cooke, The Beast & Casey Cooke, The Beast/Patricia (Split)
Series: Dark Minds Duology [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787701
Comments: 99
Kudos: 35





	1. Mad Hatter

**Author's Note:**

> "I'll tell you a secret: I'm not alarmed. So what if I'm crazy? The best people are."

**_Scrtch...sc-ctch…_ **

_ That still doesn't look right. _

With a huff, the young woman at the reception desk dropped her pencil, not caring if it smudged the sketchbook page upon impact. Her memory of what she was even trying to draw diminished with every second, and upon further examination of her work thus far, she was unsure of whether she even wanted to finish it.

_ Teeth. It had more teeth. _

As artistically inclined as she was, attempting to recreate what she had witnessed in her fading dream from the prior night proved to be an extreme challenge. The dreams always changed from night to night. Last night was a docile-mannered, sinister-presenting shadow with fangs sprouting from the silhouette of a head. Many times, a family visited her. Other nights, she felt like she was on an acid trip. And every night, whatever she saw was just a hair more vivid than whatever images assaulted her mind the night before.

She was used to it. Two years of vivid dreams tend to numb the burning of one's eyes come morning. Drawing her visions seemed to calm her as well.  _ If only this picture weren't so damned creepy, it would seem almost therapeutic. _

This evoked a snort that she could barely restrain. Considering anything to be therapeutic held layers of irony thicker than elephant hide. Her sketchbook was her only therapy; at least, it was the only therapy her uncle allowed her to have. Her generous uncle, a psychiatrist, who had taken her under his wing when her father died all those years ago. He provided her everything she needed...and perhaps everything she didn't. 

The young woman sighed in frustration as she glowered at the Lovecraftian horror she had drawn. If only this night terror were the only monster in her life.

_ He isn't a monster. He's just...imperfect. Like every guardian. _

In truth, her uncle lost his temper quite a lot. He was kind to his patients, but she figured out that such patience took a toll on him throughout the day. He was very easy to anger with her...and yet, he would do anything to protect her. He locked the doors extra tightly every night and would occasionally stay up late to sit and guard the house.

_ If that's true, then why can't you get some damn therapy? _

The thought caught her completely by surprise and didn't seem to originate in her own brain. It wasn't like he completely cut her off from help: he encouraged her to take up productive hobbies, and his library was never locked. She was free to look up any mental health conditions he had literature for. 

When she had time, that is. Part of her uncle's "productive hobbies" regimen for her was spending her weekends and free time after school at the desk that she now slumped over in complete boredom. They had moved into the partial-house, partial-office when she was a day shy of sixteen, and now that she was, in his opinion, "old enough," she had to start earning her room and board. All under the table, of course; he didn't want any Feds patrolling the neighborhood over a little bit of tax evasion.

_ He's probably afraid of what else they may find out. _

Her body stiffened into a pillar of ice as the most recent of the sourceless thoughts flew across her mind like a runaway theater marquee. She straightened her posture, smoothed her expression from veiled gloom to professionalism, and shoved the sketchbook beneath a planner. Only one appointment for this fine, overcast Saturday. 

**_Ring-ling!_ **

_ And there they are. _

A young man, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old, with pale skin and slightly messy brown hair, glanced around the small waiting area. He wasn't nervous about his surroundings so much as he was reluctant to take another step into the reception area. He wore a beat-up biker jacket and a faded t-shirt from some black metal band that the young woman only knew from one of their songs on the radio. Ripped straight-leg jeans funneled her attention down to his worn sneakers and a black tracking anklet peeking out from between the articles of clothing. His piercing blue eyes finally met her focus, and though she knew the answer, the customary question escaped her lips.

"Can I help you?"

He sharply inhaled, ran a hand through his hair, and strode up to the front desk. Planting an elbow on its countertop, he leaned toward her, too close for her comfort, and allowed a faint smirk to materialize before answering.

"Ten AM for Crumb."

She should have made the association, in all of its levels, from the moment she saw his name in the calendar. Her throat started to close, but before his intimidating aura could suffocate her, she nodded and responded in an overly even tone.

"Yes. Excuse me while I grab the initial paperwork you'll need."

She didn't lose any time swiveling in her chair to open the necessary filing cabinets.  _ Survey, medical release...and here's the folder for their session. _

After attaching what the patient would need to a clipboard and setting the hefty folder in her uncle's to-do bin, she turned back around. He had been staring at her intently the entire time she worked, and a chill washed down her spine. His smirk was no longer faint, and her composure was no longer intact, as she passed him the forms. In a cracking voice, she instructed him on where to sign, what to write, and so on.

He cocked his head a few degrees to the side and answered slyly, "Sure thing, dollface," before taking his seat on the nearest armchair.

She knew exactly who he was. Kevin Crumb. Philadelphia born and raised, specifically by his mother, since his father had died in a horrific train crash before he was born. That is, until he murdered her three months ago. Strangled her to death while she was sleeping, then called the cops on himself immediately after the crime.

She supposed the case of the dangerous man just six feet away from her had a silver lining. In a trial more heavily publicized than most murder cases, he showed the court a multitude of scars that had resulted from a lifetime of abuse at the hands of his so-called "victim." Threatening messages his mother had sent him contributed to the mountains of evidence, as well as a social services investigation revealing no food in the house, heavy locks on several doors that were only accessible from a key on his mother's necklace, and a shredded birth certificate and Social Security card that bore the name of the man whose fate was at stake.

The young woman knew that he hadn't helped his case by constantly insisting that "the bitch had it coming to her," but deep down, she considered his motivation almost noble. He had courage that she could only wish for. Even though she knew she would never kill anyone, the thought of returning the favor to someone who had made her suffer caused the darkest part of her mind to smile in twisted approval.

**_Wham!_ **

She was forcibly ejected from her thoughts by Crumb slamming the clipboard onto the counter and resuming his excessively familiar lean. The young woman narrowed her eyes at him as she regained her breath and posture. As gracefully as she could muster, she reached up with a sweater-adorned arm and retrieved the forms, then slid them into the folder.

"Can I at least ask what your name is?"

The young woman whipped her head toward the source of the calm voice. He stared her down, grinning with malice but gazing with inner peace and piqued curiosity. The defenses she had built behind her own dark brown eyes from a combination of self-isolation and professionalism crumbled, and she shivered slightly at the sensation that he could see into her soul.

Her voice trembled, but she finally answered, "Casey."

Kevin chuckled internally as he let his expression soften, hoping to keep her from shutting out his inquiry. This receptionist, Casey, was interesting, but he needed to figure out why. He never cared enough to converse with anyone, let alone people his own age. However, something about her caught his attention. Most notably how such an objectively pretty girl would be caught wearing such an ugly beige sweater.

_ That's odd. I've never cared about looks before. Why now? _

To say the least, when she turned to give him her name, he saw through her prim defenses just enough to see a familiar gleam. A sad gleam. A strangely curious gleam. Whatever it was, it lacked the sheer terror that everyone else had when speaking to him these past few months. She wasn't scared, merely startled by the immediacy of conversation. The true fear in her doe eyes wasn't directed at him.

"Casey. Nice to meet ya. I'm Kevin."

With that, he extended his right hand just enough so that his fingertips reached over the dividing counter. Casey simply stared at him in confusion before cautiously reaching out to shake it. 

_ That wasn't so bad,  _ she told herself.  _ He's here because he needs help. Besides, if he wanted to hurt you, he probably would have by now...right? _

"I've gathered," she responded, her tone finally exuding some stability. She hoped that shutting down his attempt would force him to take a seat and wait for the doctor. Unfortunately for her, he interpreted this as an invitation and leaned slightly closer.

"You must be tough stuff, working in a place like this."

_ You don't know the half of it.  _ "It's...really not that big of a deal. Now if you could take a seat, please, then Dr. Cooke will be with you shortly."

_ Frigid. I like that.  _ "Gladly, dollface. Let's do this again sometime. Lord knows this isn't a one time thi-"

**_Click!_ **

The frosted-glass door to the doctor's office swung open, and John stepped out into the reception area before making a blind beeline to the front desk. Kevin stood back from the counter, attempting to hide the fact that he had just been distracting the receptionist from her duties. Casey, in turn, darted a hand toward his file folder and passed it to her uncle. However, he looked at her sternly and cleared his throat.

"You told him he could sit, right? You haven't made him stand there the whole time?" he asked in a gruff voice. A voice that wasn't threatening on the surface, but she recognized when he was on the verge of losing his temper. A bear's warning growl to fit the large man.

Casey's voice began to tremble slightly, but the more she concentrated on how thoroughly her quivering lips betrayed her collected persona, the more she was forced to speak and get the uncomfortable exchange over with. "Yes sir. He just...had a few questions."

"Ah," the man answered, a mild disposition overtaking his sour mood. "My bad, then. If I could just take that from you, now."

Casey nodded hastily and passed the folder to him before darting an imperceptible sideways glance to Kevin. He watched the entire exchange with a glint of suspicion in his eye. Both of them had the same accent... _ Midwestern, maybe?  _ They had similar facial structures. Though they didn't look enough alike to be father and daughter, he was willing to bet money that they were related somehow. Maybe that's why she was so afraid of seeming like she was socializing with a patient.

"Thanks, Case," the doctor concluded after leafing through the file. With that, he rounded the desk and approached Kevin with his arm stretched out in greeting. The young man took his hand and shook it.

"It's great to meet you, Dr. Cooke," he said, lacking the cunning undertone that his composed inflection had earlier conveyed. "I'm glad that you agreed to help me. I really can't thank you enough for this second chance."

"Of course," the doctor responded in a gregarious tone that didn't align with the terrifying conversation he had with Casey hardly two minutes ago. "We'll discuss your case in my office. Follow me, please." 

Casey watched as they disappeared through the glass door. Kevin tilted his head ever so slightly and winked one ocean eye at her. She shuddered as he left her line of sight, quickly pivoted back toward her desk, and allowed herself to exhale.


	2. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Goddamn right, you should be scared of me. Who is in control?"

Kevin settled onto a sofa of faded olive felt across a daunting mahogany desk from Dr. Cooke. The psychiatrist had a very imposing, bearlike presence, but however sternly he carried himself made no difference to the young man. He was just another checkpoint on the road to freedom. Just another authority figure promising his assistance if he continued to cooperate. 

Except this time, part of this promise was different. For once in his life, Kevin couldn't put a finger to the pulse regarding the atmosphere around somebody. He knew that the promise was more likely to be fulfilled by the doctor than anybody else. However, he couldn't be sure if it was truly in earnest. The young man crossed his arms and leaned back into the sofa as his companion shifted in his own chair and flipped the folder open.

"Let's start with the softball questions. Please tell me your name and age so I can confirm I am speaking to the right person."

Kevin huffed and smirked before responding. "Kevin Crumb. Age nineteen, as of yesterday. Birth date is March sixth, two-thousand one.."

Dr. Cooke nodded. "Thank you. Simply a formality. Now's the point where we get down to business." He cleared his throat and straightened his posture barely noticeably. "Are you aware of the circumstances of your visit today?"

Kevin amusedly exhaled before crossing his arms and staring the psychiatrist directly in the eyes. "They think I'm some kind of sociopath or something. Plus all of that pesky childhood trauma."

"Do you think you're antisocial?"

_ At least he's polite enough to not stamp it on right away.  _ "Perhaps. But riddle me this, doc, do you think that, if I didn’t care about society’s rules and perceptions and whatever the hell else, I would be sitting here talking to you?"

Dr. Cooke raised his hands in surrender. "My apologies. I seem to have struck a nerve there." He naturally didn't notice his patient's sly, subtle grin that disappeared on command when they locked eyes again. "However, your... _ action _ was clearly inspired by extreme trauma, and while you clearly have learned how to cope with it, I'll need to conduct further evaluations to determine the course of your treatment."

Kevin's expression softened from mischief to deep appreciation. "I understand, doctor. Just ask me any questions you need."

In the meantime, Casey had returned to her detailed sketch, which, curiously enough, seemed more physically accurate than when she had originally turned her attention away. She knew she had added more fangs, but... _ not THAT many… _

Without another thought on the matter, she wrote it off as having been on a creative roll. While her artwork was less than pleasant for the average person to admire, her work was liberating in comparison to her carefully guided art class at school. This wasn't to say she despised the course at all; in fact, she would have spent her entire senior year in that classroom if she could. But, after moving to Pennsylvania, some credits had been inexplicably lost in transference, and she was stuck retaking a trivial political science class from sophomore year and making up for a near-failing grade or two from the fall semester.

As her pencil continued to glide over the gaps on the paper, filling it with minutiae that slipped from her mind immediately after translation, Casey's thoughts began to wander. Particularly to the conversation in the next room. She didn't want to hear it, since that would lead to a damning breach of trust, and even if she did, the office was soundproofed. Nevertheless, today's newest client was certainly a peculiar sort and she couldn't ignore him if she tried. The fact that he was here instead of behind bars left her incredulous, and she knew that the manipulative display he had presented just a bit ago was a mere fraction of what he was capable of.

_ No. It's not fascinating. It's part of why he needs help. Don't make a spectacle out of it. _

Casey knew she would have to ignore him. She couldn't ask questions, and she was unsure if she wanted answers.

"Well, Kevin," Dr. Cooke concluded upon scanning his notes parallel to a condensed copy of the DSM, "you show the symptoms of PTSD. I'll have to wait until I've conducted a more thorough analysis to prescribe you anything, but rest assured, you will receive the treatment you need."

However, his face darkened, and he cleared his throat before continuing solemnly, "I do have more questions about...the incident."

_ Incident. Bullshit. It was a murder, call it like it is.  _ Kevin sighed, ran a swift hand through his hair, and leaned forward. "Whatever you need, doc."

"Excellent. Now, according to your testimony, you called 911 after you strangled your mother. Is that true?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Why?"

Kevin was blindsided by the simple word. He knew the answer, but whether to divulge that glimpse behind the facade was the true question. Not a shred of guilt had gone into his decision, but he knew an admission of that sort would prolong this already agitating process.

"I don't know. Seemed like the natural thing to do."

Dr. Cooke nodded, his neutral face betraying not even an ounce of judgment. "I see. How...what emotions did you feel while you committed your-" The bearlike doctor caught himself. "-action?"

Kevin brought his hands to the back of his neck and interlaced his fingers as he closed his eyes to think and reopened them. "A lot of anger."

"Anything else? Did you feel any sadness? Fear?"

_ No.  _ "Yes, but it was...hollowed out. Selfish. Sad for myself, afraid for how I would support myself. Everything else was hatred."

The psychiatrist's expression contorted into peculiar concentration on his patient for a moment before he spoke again with newfound firmness in his tone. "What sort of a student are you? Don't be afraid, I'm not concerned with your discipline, it has no effect on your case."

_ Yeah right.  _ "Not great, but I pass and stuff. I was on track to graduate after this semester. I disrupted class a bit, but…" Kevin suddenly shifted, straightening in his seat as he slammed his mental door shut on the prying doctor. "I get what this is about. You want to know if I was an asshole kid so you can write me off as some kind of maniac now."

Dr. Cooke sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's not what-"

"Of course it is. I appreciate the help, doc, but I don't think this is going to work. I killed my mother because she hurt me, and there's nothing else to it. Thank you for your time today."

Still wearing his jacket, he stood up and started to round the sofa. However, a deep, icy voice from behind him spoke up.

"If you walk out that door, Mr. Crumb, I will be in contact with your parole officer."

Kevin slowly pivoted until the doctor was in his view. The man's entire demeanor had changed: he now stood behind his desk, arms crossed, an air of danger surrounding his form, daggers in his eyes. Dr. Cooke intended to have his way, and though Kevin knew he could easily wipe that glower off the behemoth's face, he also realized that his game plan wasn't going to work and that he would never be a free man without properly convincing the doctor of his genuineness.

And so, he stalked back to the sofa and resumed his seat.

**_Thump!_ **

The noise startled Casey from her wandering thoughts, causing her pencil lead to snap as she added more detail to her drawing. She had so enveloped herself in her artwork that any sudden development would have induced a heart attack. 

However, what concerned her was the force and seeming distance of what she had heard.

The thud was muffled, and it hadn't come from the office. Rather, an initial impact had sounded relatively far away, but the sound carried from the hall running alongside the office that connected the reception area to the kitchen. 

Cautiously, she rotated in her chair to discover what the source of the noise was. A bookshelf leaned against the opposite wall just barely in her view. It was full of all sorts of medical dictionaries and encyclopedias, all manner of thick books that were coated with dust from the Dark Ages.

And somehow, there was a wide, empty slot in one of the shelves.

_ What the hell? _

Casey stood up from her chair and, without more hesitation, eased around the desk and made slow strides for the bookshelf, watching it intently as she approached.

The encyclopedia volume for M had been tossed to the floor, opened toward the end and lying face down. The volumes around its original resting place had not fallen inward to close the gap, and the space itself was remarkably dust-free. 

Eager to replace the book and return to her project for the day, she squatted down to pick up the volume. Nevertheless, the open entry's chilling title stopped her dead in her tracks.

**Murder**

Kevin had been staring down the old psychiatrist for roughly five minutes, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Neither was willing to concede control over the situation. Dr. Cooke sized up his patient for a few more seconds before finally breaking the silence.

"Kevin, you're a good kid. I'm not here to hurt you, to put a target on your back. You're in pain, and you need help that I can provide."

The young man snorted. "If you want to be so helpful, then stop trying to find an underlying factor like every other person in this goddamn justice system. It was revenge, plain and simple, and it hurt."

The doctor shook his head and grinned threateningly. "No, I don't think I believe you, young man. But, unfortunately, I have a job to do, and so do you."

"Please. What could yours possibly be apart from giving me treatment?"

"Helping you assimilate back into a normal life."

Kevin sighed and closed his eyes. That word again. Normal. _ You've never had a normal life. You need to learn to function like a normal young adult. You need to finish high school like a normal teenager. _ He was so sick of hearing that word, which meant absolutely nothing in the end.

The doctor continued. "I assume you've already moved into your new apartment."

Kevin nodded and hardened his features. "Yeah. Bad building, but it's only ten minutes from my new school."

Dr. Cooke smirked, or perhaps grimaced, almost imperceptibly at the mention of him continuing his education. "Upper Merion, right?"

"Yes."

"It's a good school, you'll do just fine there," he concluded, bitterness just barely containing itself from leaking into his voice.

"Thank you," the young man responded as he stood to leave. "My time here is up. Same time next week?"

"Of course," the psychiatrist replied as he watched him leave. "Mr. Crumb?"

Kevin turned in response. "Yes?"

"Don't think for one second that you can abuse this hippy judge's reform mandate for you. If I catch you out of line, I will have you put behind bars."

The young man glowered at Dr. Cooke before thrusting the door open and stepping out to the lobby.

Hearing the office door swing open, Casey slammed the volume shut and shoved it onto the shelf in a panic before whipping around. Fortunately, her uncle did not accompany Kevin, and she calmly exhaled before rushing past him to her rightful station. His gaze followed her as she rolled her chair toward her workstation before he noticed the sketchbook.

He was certainly confused at first by the demonic images sprawled over the page. However, she had slid the planner on top of it before he could inquire, and she looked up at him for confirmation.

"Next Saturday at ten o’clock again?" she asked in her chiming professional voice.

"Unless this damn tracking anklet decides to put me under house arrest," he answered with a chuckle. Both were too shaken by their respective prior events to put much effort into further propriety.

Casey jotted the appointment on a notecard and passed it to him over the counter. Kevin nodded and smirked at the new target of his interest before mock bowing to her.

"Have a wonderful day, dollface. I'll be seeing you around."

He turned around and strode out the front door. Meanwhile, she, in the wake of rolling her eyes at his manipulative theatrics, watched his back as he disappeared into the streets.


	3. Happy Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm a freak, I'm a fiend, I'm a fucked up wannabe. Made this better, now I'm learning to love it."

**_Beep-beep! Beep-beep!_ **

Casey's eyes drifted open, too glazed to read the clock but strained enough to internally realize that it was six AM, too early for any rational human to be awake. The rest of the weekend had blurred by after the Saturday morning appointment, with the young woman spending it begrudgingly completing a research paper, checking in patients, and doing chores. 

She desperately wanted to skip school. She repeated this sentiment to herself every day, knowing full well that she couldn't afford to if she ever wanted to move out of her uncle's house. While her classmates were never mean, she wasn't oblivious to how they whispered and stared before pretending she wasn't even there. The teachers treated her like she was stupid, so she was regularly sent to detention for arguing with them. Overall, everyone was far too…

_ Preppy. Privileged. Even the other broke and loner kids. _

Casey hadn't felt at home in Philadelphia from the second she stepped out of her uncle's truck onto their new driveway, and school was just as unpleasant as the cold, severe house.

"Get yourself up! I've got a schedule to keep!"

She heard her uncle's irritated yell echo from down the hall. Unsurprisingly, her door was wide open despite having closed it the prior night. The first few nights in a row that it happened when she first moved in, she was creeped out. After a while, she wrote it off as Uncle John peeking in to see if she had gone to sleep as he made his rounds. Peculiarly enough, though, he always denied such a ritual, but since it consistently happened on a nightly basis, it stopped bothering her. He refused to let her put a lock on the inside, anyway, so she had to get used to it.

Casey went through her morning routine, cleaning up in the adjacent bathroom and brushing out her long hair, packing her school bag and pulling on a layered outfit for the brisk air of early March: a long-sleeved black shirt, a brown hoodie, a green flannel, jeans, socks, and weathered tan workboots. She would have attempted to coordinate her appearance a little better had she remembered to do laundry, but nevertheless, she had already taken too long on her preparation for the day and would get an earful if she didn't appear downstairs soon.

Not even checking a mirror for wrinkles or frizz, she scooped up her bag by a single strap and hastened out the door.

Upon descending the staircase into the main area below, she found Uncle John at the side door off the living room, still wearing sweats and holding a wrapped breakfast sandwich in each hand and glaring up at her in annoyance. As it was a weekday, his first appointment likely wasn't until noon, but since she couldn't drive herself, he was stuck waking up early to chauffeur her to school. Most days, she would have snorted and joked to herself that, if he let her apply for a job outside of his practice, she could just drop out and he wouldn't have to deal with her time and money expenses anymore. This morning, however, after two nights of discombobulating dreams in a row, she merely nodded and followed him out to his old black truck.

Both were silent on the brief drive to the school. He was never one to discuss his work schedule; she never mentioned school unless she needed to make different arrangements for riding home at the end of the day. She was glad for this; the less she had to talk about her friend group or lack thereof and her dismal classes, the better.

The truck finally pulled up to the front of the school. At seven-thirty in the morning, students were barely starting to trickle in. Casey slung her bag on her shoulder, popped open the door, and shoved it on her way out.

"Hey."

Her uncle's voice, crunchy as gravel from early-morning congestion, stopped her dead in her tracks. Having planted a foot on the ground outside, she twisted her torso around to listen.

"Have a good day today, okay? I worry about you, Casey-bear."

After staring at him from her periphery for a few seconds, she nodded, mumbled a quick "goodbye", and hastily snaked out the door. As she trudged up to the main entrance, she could hear the old truck chug away. 

_ How much trouble would I be in if I cut and run now? _

Casey's legs begrudgingly carried her through the front doors and on her usual morning route to her locker. She glared at the tiled floor all the while, attempting to dodge the judgmental stares of the other students as she passed by. To make her Monday melancholy worse, she found her locker neighbor, Claire Benoit, pinned up against her locker door with some handsy underclassman.

"Ahem."

Casey cleared her throat, hoping to dispel the lovers in paradise to Claire's own locker. This took a couple more repetitions until, finally, Claire glanced away and met Casey's agitated gaze.

"Oh my God, sis, sorry! Didn't see you there!" she called out in apology, gently pushing her partner away as she paced back from the door. Casey simply nodded, gave a halfhearted neutral smile, and, once her face was out of sight, rolled her eyes and scowled as she entered her combination and ran through her schedule for the day.

_ Test in Algebra 2...fantastic…then Accounting and English quizzes. At least Art is right after lunch. And Chem and PoliSci. _

After gathering her textbooks, she reluctantly made her way to the math wing, hoping the teacher would allow her to start early.

Today was Kevin's first day at his new high school, where he truly felt the ball and chain veiled beneath the promise of freedom. The terror in each of his classmates' eyes as he was introduced by his teachers imbued him with twisted satisfaction. He had a decent schedule, having struck a deal to finish the prior semester's courses online as he attempted to catch up with his peers.

Then lunch rolled around. And he couldn't believe his eyes.

_ That hair. That's her. _

As he exited the cafeteria queue, tray of food in hand, he saw her sitting by herself at a circular table in the back corner, drawing in her sketchbook. The flowing brown hair, the intense gaze downward as she worked…

_ Casey's here. _

**_Thud!_ ** "Hey, quit standing around!"

Some tall, muscular guy in a varsity jacket forcefully shoved past Kevin, purposefully knocking his shoulder. He stumbled for a moment before regaining his balance, meal thankfully intact. He could feel the rage boiling within him, and he desperately wanted to sucker punch that asshole.

So he made a beeline for the cafeteria door, glanced at the directory, and made his way to the library instead.  _ If the receptionist goes here, no way in hell I'm chancing that. _

After signing himself in, Kevin wandered toward the window seats that overlooked the parking lot. The cool air filtering in from the cracks in the window frame grounded him following his close brush with loss of total control. He would have much preferred tackling that jackass into a table, but that plan had so many flaws, most notably the very real possibility of being maimed but also a desire to not get expelled on the first day.

_ How could I not stand there, though? Casey's here. Did...the doctor know about this? Was that why he was such a dick during our session? _

Kevin instantly regretted leaving the cafeteria. Casey had been eating all alone, and even though he didn't think she was too fond of him after trying to make conversation before his appointment, she needed a friend. And if not a friend, then… a professional acquaintance.

As he stared out over the crammed parking lot, he admired the artistic quality the bland landscape held, but that brought his mind back to Casey as well. Particularly her trusty sketchbook.

_ Just what is she drawing all the time? _

Now lacking appetite as he remembered the fascinatingly morbid image on the paper, Kevin stood up, dumped the uneaten remainder of his food in the trash, and stalked out, resolving himself to quit eating alone starting the next day.

As she put the finishing details on her drawing of the family that had appeared in her latest nightly vision, Casey sat hunched over her desk in the stuffy political science classroom. She couldn't get the poses of its newest members exactly right---there were usually only three, but two extravagantly-dressed new members had joined the party---but the longer she could procrastinate starting on the redundant notes, the better. Despite having already taken the course two years ago at her prior school, she was forced to sit in on a class of rambunctious juniors to finish her graduation requirements. 

_ Like now! God dammit… _

Somebody brushed past her, bumping her elbow in the process. Though she inhaled sharply at the stray mark left in the wake of the disturbance, she was hardly confrontational enough to call them out.

_ Wait...nobody sits behind me, though...probably somebody in the Jerktourage screwing with Mr. Dean. _

**_Brrrrrrrring!_ **

The bell to start the final class of the day rang out, and Mr. Dean had to bang his ceremonial gavel against his desk several times to calm the rowdy crew before him. Roll call was boring as usual, with the occasional smartass claiming he wasn't there.

_ Whoever's behind me didn't answer, though. _

"Now, class," started Mr. Dean, his trademark nasally, pedantic voice clouded over by an emotion Casey couldn't detect, "I don't know if you've noticed throughout your classes today, but we have a new student in our midst. If you would please direct your attention-" (he stated this as he gestured behind Casey's head) "-to your newest classmate, Mr. Kevin Crumb."

_ Mr. Kevin Crumb. _

The name echoed in Casey's head, and she hastily pivoted in her seat to confirm that she had heard Mr. Dean correctly. Sure enough, the young man reclined in the chair behind her, arms crossed in the signature leather jacket he had worn to his appointment only two days prior. His bright blue eyes immediately locked with hers, dark brown and reminiscent of a deer in the headlights, and a grin that would appear to be in polite greeting to anyone who hadn't seen it before, but housed a callback to the circumstances of these two particular individuals' meeting, flashed at her for a few seconds. Finally, he sat up straighter, rested his arms regularly on his desk, and started looking around the room at his other companions.

_ They're all so terrified,  _ he laughed internally.  _ But HER shock...now THAT'S easily the highlight of my day. _

"It's great to meet you all!" he stated loudly as his gaze traveled before finally locking on the teacher, whose eyes were filled with exasperation at having to cater to a new student at all, let alone a criminal one. Whispers started to blossom in small pods all over the classroom, Mr. Dean banged his gavel a few times, and Casey, too stunned at the revelation, remained still, staring at Kevin.

_ Oh, this is gonna be a...strange semester. _

_ " _ ORDER!" Mr. Dean yelled, which finally refocused all of the chaotic attention in the room on him. "I know you're all excited by a new student, but let's not forget our manners. Now, in honor of this new member of our learning community, we are going to play an icebreaker game!"

Kevin's face contorted to an expression of dampened shock and muffled confusion. "Mr. Dean, that's really not nec-"

"Ms. Rimes! Will you please start us off with your name and...hmm...ah! Your favorite movie. We'll snake around the rows from there."

Kevin sighed, leaned back, and ran a hand through his hair. Meanwhile, Casey in front of him sat grinning, unsure if she was happier with the embarrassment he was bound to experience in this hellpit of a class or the chance to learn such a random detail about this mysterious patient of her uncle's.

_ For science, of course. _

_ Emma. I'll have to remember it. _

The title rolled around Kevin's mind like a marble as Casey helped him catch up on two months of notes under Mr. Dean's orders. She, on the other hand, was mildly surprised at his answer of  _ X-Men, _ but made a quick mental note about it and proceeded to dutifully catch her new classmate up to speed.

Finally, the dismissal bell rang, and papers were jammed into every folder and textbook as the students escaped the stifling classroom in a frenzy. Casey strode through several halls before reaching her locker, opened it, and shoved all of her homework essentials into her backpack before stalking toward the front door. She wanted to leave this odd day behind as soon as possible.


	4. Sippy Cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The kids are still depressed when you dress them up, and syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup."
> 
> Particular TWs for domestic violence, drug use, and supernatural elements

"I'm going out with a colleague tonight, alright?"

Uncle John's voice rumbled quietly as he broke the thick silence in the truck. This resulted in a mild chill washing down Casey's spine as she tried to prevent her breathing from betraying her concern about his evening plans.

"Where are you going?" she asked calmly.

As the truck rolled up to the stop sign, he swiveled his neck to glare at her. "Why do you need to know?"

She shrank back slightly, gliding her resting left arm toward her body and acquiring a meek expression. "I'm just worried, that's all."

Uncle John snorted. "Sure you are. Anyway, we'll be going out for drinks. I'll be around for dinner, but Dr. Pierce is picking me up at 7, so I want you to head up to your room and get to your schoolwork before then, alright?

Casey slowly guided her gloomy gaze back to the street outside her window, hoping to keep him from seeing the Pavlovian panic that had developed within her.

"Understood."

Within five minutes, the truck pulled into their short driveway, and the pair stalked into the house through the side door in silence. Casey hastily set up shop at the weathered granite bar, which served as their dining area, between the kitchen and living room. Uncle John, meanwhile, disappeared into the office section, and the young woman took advantage of the brief solace to let out a deep breath.

The most difficult factor in their small family unit was undoubtedly Uncle John's drinking problem. She had, on several occasions, left him materials for support groups that she had nabbed from the guidance office at school when the counselor wasn't looking. However, being the only other person in the house, the pamphlets were always traced back to her, which subsequently always landed her in a screaming match before she was ordered to go to her room.

_ How patronizing. I'm a goddamn adult. _

Once again, she wasn't sure where such a derisively bold thought came from. She agreed with the sentiment and didn't understand why he consistently treated her as if she were a child, but…

_ That voice wasn't my own. _

The sourceless thoughts weren't as common as the dreams or the open bedroom door, but they were also a new addition to her growing delirium in the strange house. They were usually reflective of her own buried thoughts and emotions, those which she would never dream of telling anyone, but they were always whispered by one of a myriad of strange voices rather than her own internal monologue. However, she rarely questioned them and merely allowed them to pass with only the occasional cringe. Even if it was a psychological issue, that would be chalked up to spending too much time around her uncle's psychotic patients.

Dinner was bland as usual. While he certainly tried, both of them jibed that Uncle John was an ironically horrid cook. He told several bad puns, which only earned the occasional strained grin from Casey, but otherwise, they said very little to each other. As she shoved the undercooked peas around her plate, she could feel him staring solemnly at her from across the bar, until she simply couldn't bear it anymore and scraped her plate into the garbage disposal before dismissing herself and her books upstairs.

Casey desperately wanted him to just stay home and watch whatever sitcom was on that night. Hearing him bellowing from downstairs about "the sluts and the queers" unfailingly pissed her off to no end, but the situation would at least be contained. A Monday night spent out drinking would inevitably lead to a fight, and when his hangover would start, he would probably joke that she could have done more to remind him about his day job.

_ Not that he would listen if I did. _

She shook the jab from her head and went back to the seemingly impossible math problem. As the evening passed, she heard the side door open and close as he left, wondering how much damage control would need to be done at the end of the night.

"Hey you, up there! You ain't seen some ugly-ass gnome named Crumb, have ya?"

Kevin stiffened at the familiar grating voice. All he wanted was a peaceful evening staring out at the skyline and enjoying the unseasonably mild weather from his fire escape. Unfortunately, somebody had come to ask for a favor. He leaned over the railing, a mocking grin sprawled over his face.

"Is that you, Jai? You look like shit!"

Jai cackled and began to ascend the stairs to Kevin's balcony, not caring about the muffled protests of the lower tenants from inside their homes as he breezed by. The two did an elaborate handshake before entering the studio apartment.

"So, Kevin!" Jai asked as he pulled two joints from his jacket pocket. "Been a while, how ya been?"

_ Of course. Won't get to the point, as usual.  _ "Adjusting. Damn prep kids are scared to hell of me, but it's no big."

Jai lit a joint and passed it to Kevin, who took it gratefully. "Well jeez, ya basically-"

"Is there a reason you're here, Jai?" he interjected as he took a hit, attempting to avoid any conversation of his circumstances.

Jai raised his hands in surrender. "My bad, crackerjack, I was just trying to make conversation." This evoked a derisive snort from his gracious host, but he continued. "D'ya got any dealers out here among the stiffs?"

"I've only been here three days, how the fuck would I know?"

Jai huffed at his intransigence. "That's not the Kevin I know. He woulda been looking for either a fight or a good time by now."

"Woulda shoulda coulda. If I'm even suspected of rolling with shady types, it's game over."

"Still pulling this 'reformed man' bullshit, eh?"

This caused Kevin to outright laugh. "Of course not. I don't give a rat's ass whether I change or not. It's what the law sees that matters, and if you've got some billionaire business scheme, you better make it worth my trouble."

Jai hung his head in embarrassment. "The boys sent me thinking that you'd be a bit more receptive. We just think that pedaling out here for a little less than the current guy, little more than our turf, for the rich kids would be a smart business move, that's all. And who better to be a middleman than our old pal-"

"You better start talking about what numbers you're thinking, or I'm throwing your ass out."

Jai resigned himself to this ultimatum. "Ten percent. We also thought, since you were the new scary bastard around these parts, you could also get the word ou-"

"Fuck off. Get a better deal or find a different dealer."

With that, Kevin reopened the door to the fire escape and gestured for Jai to leave. The visitor turned back as he started down the stairs.

"I'll see what I can do."

_ The owner's gone, and his ward has retired to her quarters. Time to make the rounds. I cautiously pace up and down the second-story corridor, ensuring that nothing will bother her as she studies, before gliding down the stairs. _

_ "Good evening, madame," I hear from the kitchen. He's standing there, still tall and brooding, still wearing clothing from a more contemporary era, not quite this one where the ladies are allowed to prance about whilst wearing pants and showing their skin but far less ornate than any of the gentlemen I knew. _

_ "A blessed evening to you, sir. You've finished cleaning the dinner dishes, I presume?" _

_ "Best as I could. He didn't even bother to clean up after she left, filthy bastard. If I don't do them…"  _

_ He shudders at the thought of food drying onto the plates from days of neglect by the home's inhabitants. We understand, however, that we can't help them get their act together. The man seems to view any outside assistance as a personal slight, judging by his aggressive reactions to the well-meaning suggestions of the child. The young lady he financially supports, meanwhile, seems to only view us as novelties, figments of her subconscious. _

_ We've all attempted to converse with her, but she doesn't seem to listen. No matter. The young are always more perceptive, and even one as defensive as she will let her walls crumble when the time is right. _

_ "Who did you place on guard duty?" I inquire. _

_ His response is preceded by a sigh. "Samuel. He's been begging to do it for a week now, but I'm concerned that he'll get...overzealous." _

_ "Don't be ridiculous," I scold. "Samuel may not be bright, but he's vigilant. We can trust him to keep the darkness at bay." _

_ "Yes, madame," he submits, head bowed in shame as I proceed past him to continue my route. "Madame?" _

_ "Yes?" _

_ "I'm certain the owner went out for drinks. How would you like me to handle the situation if he's...belligerent?" _

_ I sigh. "Steer him away from the child. If she approaches to care for him, then...ensure her safety." _

_ He nods, and I set forth on my nightly duties. _

**_Slam!_ **

Casey was startled awake by the side door being thrown shut, followed by heavy stumbling around the first floor. Rubbing the overwhelming exhaustion from her eyes and tossing her textbooks aside, she crept downstairs to check out the commotion.

Sure enough, Uncle John had returned from the bar, but the night was far from over. He'd poured himself several full shot glasses of whiskey, and Casey tiptoed up to his place at the bar as he downed them one by one. Reaching out with a quivering hand, she rested it on his shoulder and asked, "Uncle John? Are you okay?"

In an instant, his hand shot up and forcefully grabbed his niece's bony wrist. She whimpered in pain at the strong clutch, but could do nothing as he stood up, twisting her wrist in the process.

"I thought I told you to stay upstairs."

A few tears welled in Casey's eyes. "I know, I was just worried about you."

"Not a thing to be worried about, kid. I'm a grown man, and I expect some goddamn respect in my own house," he slurred.

She began to nod hastily. "Okay. I'm sorry. I just wanted to help-"

"You always want to help!" he roared. "I'm doing fine! I've got my own damn business, stop coddling me like a child!"

"I'll stop trying to help you if you let me go!" she yelled in his face, her arm burning from the pain in her wrist. He promptly did so, only to slap her.

"You yell at me again, you little shit, and we're gonna have issues."

Within an instant, a brief glimpse of sobriety washed over his face. "Now put some ice on those. And get to sleep, you have school tomorrow." He subsequently began to lumber toward the stairs, no longer protesting her assistance as she guided him to his bedroom. 

Once she was certain he wouldn't choke to death on his own saliva, she returned to the bar. Unconsumed alcohol was poured down the drain, glasses were cleaned, and bottles were put away. 

She finally checked her wrist. His grasp had left bruises of fingerprints in her fragile skin, and a glimpse in the stainless steel surface of the stove revealed a stinging red welt from where he had slapped her. She grabbed a couple of sandwich bags, filled them with ice, and wrapped them in dish towels before situating them on the affected areas. Then, she trudged back upstairs to her warm, comfortable bedroom.

_ You shouldn't have to put up with this, dollface. _

The sourceless thought that flew through her head as she settled onto her mattress wasn't spoken by any of the typical voices. Instead, it sounded exactly like Kevin.

_ He's drunk. He doesn't know what he's doing. He always apologizes in the morning, anyway. Besides, what else are you going to do? Let his liver fail and become homeless? _

The thought of Kevin Crumb of all people as a guardian angel, however, amused her. So, as the ice calmed the throbbing in her wrist and face, she allowed him to join the cast of characters in her demented nightly visions.


	5. I Don’t Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I don't care what you think, as long as it's about me."
> 
> Particular TW for disordered eating

When her alarm went off the next morning, Casey was confused by the absence of the ice packs. They hadn't simply melted in the night or fallen to the floor; they were gone from the room entirely, and she was positioned so that she wouldn't disturb the healing marks in her sleep. Had they been caused by anybody else, she would have asked Uncle John if he had taken them in the middle of the night, but she wasn't ready to kick that hornet's nest.

She completed her routine as usual, save for a little extra foundation. As she stepped out of her room wearing today's mismatched outfit, differentiated from the previous day's by color only, bag slung over her shoulder, she could tell that Uncle John had a severe hangover. He wasn't yelling for her to hurry up simply because it would agitate his pounding headache too much. He would likely be docile the entire day to make up for his appalling behavior the prior night. While the cycle terrified Casey, she never complained when they reached the eye of the storm.

The first half of her day flew by without incident. Today's drawing was of a nurse in colonial fashion tending to a patient, and she only strayed from it when a teacher deemed her attention absolutely necessary. Lunch rolled around, and after exiting the queue, she strode to her usual empty table in the back of the cafeteria. Nobody ever sat there due to the draft from the outside window, but her abundance of layers made her immune to the cold. Then again, she was always early to lunch, so she always found it empty and the explanation was what she always provided for herself when nobody joined her.

"Are any of these seats taken?"

She jumped in shock at the voice that rang from her left and instinctively clutched her sketchbook to her chest. Her intent gaze snapped up to find Kevin, standing with one hand holding a lunch tray and the other resting on a chair two seats to the left, typical scheming grin spread across his face. He stared into her eyes and cocked his head slightly, anxiously awaiting her answer, but she was too dumbfounded to speak.

_ Why does he WANT to sit with me? _

"No. I mean, you can sit here if you want," she sputtered, cautiously guiding her attention back to her sketchbook as he took his seat two spaces away. 

"Many thanks, dollface." 

Neither of them said anything more for a brief period. She barely touched her lunch as per usual and wasn't dragged out of her focus until she heard Kevin very pointedly clear his throat.

She turned her neck to make eye contact, a neutrally solemn mask sprawled over her face. "Do you need something?" she asked calmly.

He did a small half-laugh, accompanied by a nod and a smirk. "Well first of all, I want you to stop acting like you're at work. The doctor's not here, no need to be so professional."

She automatically rolled her eyes and looked away, attempting to contain a small smile. This didn't work, and he chuckled lightly at the evasive maneuver.

"And second, are you gonna eat something? I don't want you to get too caught up in your...whatever it is."

Casey cocked an eyebrow at him, wondering why he cared so much. Truthfully, she wasn't hungry because Uncle John's breakfast sandwiches were always notoriously greasy, leaving her slightly too ill to eat come lunchtime. She always saved the portable stuff for when she was hungry, but...none of that mattered.  _ Why the hell does he care? _

"I'm not hungry right now. I'll eat some of it later."

With that, she returned to her drawing, and Kevin sat there in wonder, abandoning his own food altogether. He was in awe, and he began to realize what was so fascinating about her.

_ She's like me. Not exactly, but we're probably both a little messed up. _

The bell signifying dismissal for their next class pierced through the din of the cafeteria, and Casey slipped a wheat roll and a bag of chips from her tray into her hoodie's pockets. Kevin, meanwhile, picked up his own tray and began to leave.

"Let's do this again sometime!" he called back to her, but before she could respond, he was enveloped by the flood of students leaving for class. As she stood, carrying her own things, she was left stunned by the entirety of whatever just happened.

_ What was that? _

Kevin made sure to not bump into Casey as he drifted to his seat in Mr. Dean's class. He figured his attempt to grab her attention yesterday hadn't gone over well with her.

_ Plus, she might start to think I'm an asshole. _

Attendance ran through as it normally would, with his name added to the list precisely after Casey's. Mr. Dean droned on through the notes from last night's homework, and he could barely keep his eyes open. That is, until curiosity struck him.

He slowly tore a strip of paper out of his notebook and hastily wrote a short question on it. Then, he tapped Casey's elbow, which hung down at her side while she rested her left hand on the desk and continued to draw with her right.

Casey paused midway through a stroke of her pencil over the page and shrunk away from the unwanted touch. Kevin raised his hands as she turned to him, an expression of annoyance plastered on her face. He then extended one hand, the folded strip of paper slotted between his index and middle fingers. She simply stared at it for a few seconds before gingerly reaching out for it.

Sensing Mr. Dean glowering at her for not facing the board, she hastily turned around and hunkered down behind the person seated in front of her. She clumsily unfolded the piece of paper and squinted to read the small scribbled print.

**1 Q & I'll leave you alone: are you Dr. Cooke's kid?**

Casey sighed slightly at the short note in front of her, debating her options. She wasn't sure why he cared so much about getting close to her, especially since she technically could be an informant for his psychiatrist.  _ Not that we talk about what happens at school, anyway. _

_ What the hell, he's just curious. Just tell him. _

She flipped the strip of paper over and wrote a single word. Then, she slid it over the armrest on the right side of her desk, twisted her arm slightly, and stealthily placed the paper on the corner of Kevin's desk before returning to the painstaking mission of adding details to her drawing.

Kevin smirked at the covert act and reached for the return message. While he expected the answer he received, he felt irrational pride at the fact that he had figured the secret out so soon.

**Niece**

"Mr. Crumb!" Mr. Dean shouted from the front of the classroom. Kevin smoothly guided his gaze from the note up to the irritated teacher, still grinning despite the fact that every head was turned to stare daggers at him.

Well, almost every head. Casey only slouched further into her seat praying to disappear.

"There a problem, sir?" he asked the stern man, snickering ever so quietly under his breath. 

"It seems there is. Would you care to explain why you're bothering Ms. Cooke in the middle of my lesson?"

Kevin gestured to the list of Constitutional amendments written on a poster in the front of the room. "Now now, don't I get to invoke my right to counsel first?"

Casey sighed and placed two fingers on her temple. He couldn't have picked a worse teacher to make a scene with...or a better teacher to turn their own lesson against. Mr. Dean would take the challenge in stride, and she only hoped that Kevin wouldn't argue himself into a corner.

Mr. Dean laughed bitterly. "Unfortunately for you, that amendment is a characteristic of a constitutional democracy. While you are in this classroom, you are under the rule of a dictatorship. Now-"

Kevin raised a hand and stood up from his seat. "Mr. Dean, if I may. Thank you. Now, you view your classroom as a dictatorship because it is most efficient for learning, yes?"

"Of course. Plus, the classroom is mine, and I will run it how I see fit."

Kevin gestured to the diagram on the whiteboard. "Incorrect, you were granted power to teach in the classroom by the administrators according to their rules, showing you are actually a leader in a federalist system. However, thank you for confirming my...suspicion, for lack of a better word. Unfortunately, you don't seem to realize that power is not a means, it is an end."

Mr. Dean snorted, and several clusters of students began to whisper among themselves. "George Orwell, albeit out of context. Very impressive case, but I don't know what this has to do with you disrupting the class."

"My point exactly. I was not disrupting the class, merely asking Ms. Cooke a simple question. Unrelated, yes, but she had no problem shifting her focus back to whatever she was working on, educational or otherwise, without too much trouble. And if I recall correctly, the very syllabus that you handed me yesterday said that learning the material is our own responsibility, correct?"

"Yes, but-"

"And I'm sure I've demonstrated that I've been paying attention to your notes. As you can see, I've followed your expectations exactly. Meanwhile, the syllabus also says that disruptions to the class would be punished with detention." He pointed to a group of gossiping girls in the corner, whose inability to keep their conversation below a dull roar was among Casey's pet peeves in this specific class. They looked up at him, frightened. "Did my asking Ms. Cooke a question disturb your rather noisy and, to be honest, distracting conversation at all?"

One girl shook her head.

"Thank you. Now, you see, Mr. Dean, the only person disrupting the learning process here is you. And I'm sure you're well aware of the Magna Carta."

Mr. Dean almost smiled. "Touché, Mr. Crumb. You may be seated."

Casey finally exhaled, blushing at the sudden attention drawn to her, burying her sketchbook under her folders and her face into her desk. It was almost enough to muffle the slow clapping that erupted from scattered points around the room. Kevin, meanwhile, reclined in his seat with a shit-eating grin, and Mr. Dean banged his gavel a few times before returning to the lecture.

Casey was eager to escape the claustrophobic classroom. When the bell finally rang, she lost no time scooping up all of her books and launching herself sideways from her seat. The aisle clogged with all of those seated in front of her, equally anxious to go home, so she took the opportunity to glance behind her at the man of the hour.

Surprisingly, he was still situated in his seat, making no move to leave. He was no longer smiling, instead wearing a mask of extremely subdued remorse.

"Kevin?"

His characteristic smirk returned slightly, and he directed his gaze up to her. "My apologies, dollface. I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of the class like that. I hope you can forgive me."

At first, Casey rolled her eyes, but she could see the swell of a storm just behind his blue eyes. As much as he enjoyed the taste of power, it had thrown him into turmoil, and he was being sincere.

"It's okay. It was...cool. See you tomorrow."

She almost smiled at him as she pivoted to leave. Almost. However, as she exited to the hallway and started to stride through the crowd to her locker, she heard him calling for her, distant but slowly increasing in volume as if in pursuit. She slowed just enough to allow him to walk beside her but kept her head down as she focused on the route before her. 

"You got a phone?" he asked suddenly.

She felt her voice begin to tremble with anxiety. "Uh, yes, but...it's for emergencies only."

"Gotcha. Sorry, just figured...well, you seem like a woman of few words, but I wanted to make sure you know that you can talk to me whenever you feel like it. I swear, I'm not as scary as I look."

As she reached out for her locker door handle and sandwiched herself between her locker neighbors, she was grateful that her face was hidden and he couldn't see her chuckling slightly at the self jab. However, she instantly regretted the isolation when he turned to depart for his own locker. 

"It's no big. Hang tough, dollface."

"Wait!" she called back, reaching her hand out, clutching her phone. When she finally faced him again, she stared at him sternly. "Put your number in if you want. But don't call ever, don't text at weird times, and don't put your actual name in there."

Kevin grinned in response and took the phone. She was still rigid against his attempts at mere acquaintanceship, but this was progress.


	6. You Should See Me In A Crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm okay, I'm not your baby. If you think I'm pretty, you should see me in a crown."

"What is your angle here?"

Kevin stopped himself in the middle of building a tower of sporks and slowly turned his head to the source of the meek voice. He was met by Casey's brown-eyed gaze, which accentuated the stone-chiseled, stern expression she directed at him. Instead of drawing today, she simply ate her lunch and watched him construct the plastic magnum opus. He thought the change in routine rather strange, considering that she had seemed content with her art and his one-sided conversation the entire previous week, but thought nothing of it. It wasn't until now that he realized exactly how pensive she had been during the entire lunch period.

"What do you mean?"

Casey sighed, placed her sandwich on her tray, and ran her fingers through her hair before resting her face on one hand. "I mean, what are you trying to do, cozying up to me like this?"

The past week had been unlike anything Casey had experienced in recent memory. Kevin actually seemed...willing to hang around someone as boring and stiff as her. Seemed to WANT to hang out with her. And she could trace it all back to last Tuesday, when she reluctantly accepted his phone number.

That night was the first time she had been yelled at for being on her phone, as Uncle John didn't understand what was so funny about a device he deemed only necessary during an emergency. In truth, she was barely containing snickers at Kevin's chosen nickname in her contact list,  **That Jackass From PoliSci.** She convinced her uncle that it was merely a funny news story, made up a headline from the top of her head, and went on her way. Later that night, she quickly texted Kevin to give him her number, but he never actually replied.

Wednesday morning, she arrived at school to find him loitering by the hedges funneling toward the front door. Uncle John gave her some trite warning about how he was bad news, and she replied that she would keep her distance. His truck sped off, and Kevin strolled up to walk into the school alongside her. She didn't fight his company in the slightest.

As she completed her mental checklist of textbooks at her locker, he inquired absentmindedly about her day. She told him about her quiz in English, and he offered to help her study. She politely and coldly declined, instead saying she just wanted to draw. They sat on a bench at the corridor to the math wing, staying about a foot apart as Kevin scrolled on his phone. About ten minutes before the warning bell, he glimpsed at the page and found a few rudimentary shapes, signaling the start of an elaborate image.

"What is it?" he inquired.

Without missing a beat, she answered, "A dream I had."

They parted ways shortly after, not seeing each other again until lunch. There, he kept cracking jokes until she finally had to put her pencil down because the laughs would have messed up the details she was working diligently to add. She fought off her chuckles as much as possible, not wanting to seem too eager to cater to some of the true groaners. However, he managed to wear her down enough to make her laugh heartily with a well-placed one-liner about the principal's fifteenth trivial announcement of the lunch period, and he left her alone after that, a grin lighting up his face.

Mr. Dean's class rolled around, and Kevin wasn't done with his antics from the previous day. Casey noticed that Kevin never raised his hand for anything that wasn't an opinion question, and when he actually was called on, Mr. Dean always listened with the expression of someone conversing about the meaning of life with a crack addict. And with every single suggestion he made, no matter how odd it was, he was always able to turn the man's own lesson against him. The talent elicited groans from most, a few laughs from a group of jocks she had labeled the Jerktourage, and an incredulous look back from her. He mirrored her each time with either a wink, a self-righteous smirk, or both, and she simply rolled her eyes and returned to her original position while trying to conceal a smile. After class, he walked with her until their paths branched for different lockers and wished her a nice day. 

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday all blurred together in this fashion, the only differentiating factor being the new and different content in class and wisecracks from Kevin. She would have sworn she was living in Groundhog Day if Saturday hadn't rolled around. The brief period before his appointment started went almost the same as their first encounter, excluding the fact that her tone was less frightened and more professional. He asked about homework and her drawings, and was sufficiently pleased with the answers she gave and nothing more. Then, five minutes before he was due to start, he sat in one of the armchairs in an effort to cover up their conversation.

She thought that Sunday would be a break from his endless attempts at acquaintanceship. That is, until she received a meme from him over text. She sent a simple  **LOL** in reply, and that was that.

And later that night, everything clicked into place.  _ He's trying to play me,  _ she told herself.  _ Nobody just starts talking to someone all the time like that, least of all me. I basically shut him out the first two days of school, why is he trying so hard? He must want something, I am his doctor's niece after all. _

She resolved herself to observe him the next day, hoping to discover his ulterior motive.

And when the question had finally left her mouth, she felt extremely stupid and rude for asking such a thing out loud. But she had gone this far, and she needed to know why her uncle's newest charge cared so much about talking to her all the time.

She expected shouting and accusations to follow. Whenever she asked her uncle about his reasoning for literally anything, he griped about her lack of trust. With her peers, she didn't need to ask; she knew every conversation they struck up with her was out of either obligation or pity. This truth wasn't limited to Philadelphia, seeing as she had so few friends at her old school as well.

But Kevin was a wild card. He was making a genuine effort to be in her good graces, but she knew that he had every reason to pretend. As if he needed a reason; he had proven himself to be the defiant sort, and perhaps he was merely feigning kindness to play with her emotions. That suspicion was partially responsible for her subdued reaction toward his every advance.

It took her by surprise when he began to chuckle at her second question.

He had stared at her in disbelief for a few seconds, processing every loaded word, before the reaction overtook him. After laughing for a moment or two, he leaned toward her over the segment of the table that divided them, and addressed the elephant in the room.

"Look, dollface, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just trying to be friendly, that's all."

Before she could restrain herself, Casey scoffed. "Please. You don't have to spare my feelings at all. You couldn't be interested in being my friend if you tried. Nobody could."

He clutched a set of invisible pearls and gaped his mouth in faux shock. "I'm wounded! But no, I am. You seem out of place, like me. Plus, nobody else was taking such a great opportunity to get to know the niece of the best criminal psychiatrist in Philly, so I figured, why not?"

She snorted and grinned in response to the blatant sarcasm. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she cocked her head at him. With a light, puzzled laugh, she asked, "You...you really want to be my friend?"

"Of course, dollface. You've already got artistic talent going for ya. And I'm sure there's a sparkling personality below the surface."

Casey rolled her eyes and turned away, but this time, she let the light smile overtake her face. She hoped it would hide her blush at the flattery he had just employed.

"You know what?" she returned, snapping her gaze back to peer at him through the gaps in the spork tower. "Fine. I'll be your friend. Under one condition."

"And what exactly would that be?"

"You stop calling me 'dollface'. I don't like nicknames."

He grinned smugly at her in response. "Whatever you want, Casey."

What blossomed in the next couple of days wasn't what could be called solid friendship. They didn't text outside of school, and neither talked about their day outside of a simple "it's good" or "meh" or one of eight hundred generic responses. Instead, it was characterized by constant mutual roasting. Kevin was disappointed that their conversations were so shallow and distant and derisive, but he figured it was probably a defense mechanism on her part. Casey didn't seem like the kind to be too open to new people right away.

Technically, he wasn't that kind of person either, which made him feel even more confused over why he was so engrossed with every chance at interaction they had.

If he were honest with himself, he didn't know why he cared so much about seeming like a decent, sociable person to her. He should be resisting every person in the system attempting to make a functional human being out of his irreparably broken mind.

_ No. There's no way she's like me. People are quiet for different reasons, and there's no way she's as fucked up as some violent bastard like me. _

All of these conflicting thoughts swirled around in his head as he tried to fall asleep. So, in an attempt to focus, he isolated the cause of his inner turmoil and thought about her instead. He reveled in the glass-like smoothness with which she spoke, the lines that faintly formed on her face as she focused…

And sleep carried him away.

"You're...inviting ME?"

To call Casey dumbfounded would be the understatement of the century. And yet, Claire Benoit stood before her in English, completely enthusiastic and devoid of malice behind her smile.

_ This must be a mistake. She's NEVER invited me to anything. Ever. _

"Of course! Y'know, I realized recently that this is our last chance to do all the dumb high school party shit as seniors before we go off to college."

"Okay. Um...when is it?"

"Tomorrow night! I understand if you can't come, though. It's no big deal!"

Casey nodded, suspicious of the girl's motive, and the bell rang. Her classmates started to scramble for their seats, and Claire almost took hers before pivoting and returning to Casey.

"I almost forgot! I don't have any classes with him, but if you could let that Crumb kid know, I would appreciate it! I know you two are close."

With that, she made her way to her desk, and Casey sat in shock. She tried to protest the description of her and Kevin as close, but the girl was already out of earshot. Beyond that, though, she wondered how one person could be so ignorant. Claire was a normal human being and therefore should be wary of a literal murderer.

She didn't tell Kevin at lunch. Instead, they went about their usual banter. He jibed at her taste in poetry for an assignment, she mocked his sandcastle-inspired fortress of mashed potatoes. Neither brought up anything remotely serious.

The day ended as it usually did, with the odd couple parting ways to go to their lockers. Casey wanted to escape before Kevin dropped by, knowing that Claire would be occupying real estate gossiping with her clique for quite a while.

This was not meant to be.

"So Casey, if I had to photoshop my face onto one of these two pictures for my computer class, which one would look more like I had to resort to the likes of you for editing advice?"

Her posture stiffened and relaxed within a single moment, and she pivoted around to weigh the options. One picture was of Chris Evans shirtless as Captain America, and the other was of Elmo standing with his arms outstretched in front of a pit of fire.

"Elmo," she replied quickly, praying that she could send him on his way soon enough. "You've already got the knobby elbows, and I doubt you have the big dick energy needed to make the other one believable."

"Thank you!" he exclaimed sardonically before adjusting his backpack to leave. However, he was stopped in his tracks by the leader of the nearby gossip circle.

"Hey Crumb!" Claire called out, leading Casey to freeze and grimace. "Did Casey tell you about my party tomorrow night?"

His jaw dropped as he comically glared at Casey and faked being offended.

"Why, no she didn't! I'd have to get it cleared first, though." He gestured down at his tracking anklet.

Claire nodded in recognition of the predicament. "Gotcha. I mean, I will have a quiet room set up, so if you need to justify coming, then I'm sure you can take a study break. Oh, and...bring something to pass around."

Kevin caught the wink she gave and grinned. "No prob!" 

He then turned his attention back to Casey, calm washing over his face. "Were you going to tell me?"

She slammed her locker door shut, bag slung over her shoulder, and lowered her voice. "If I did, I'd have to answer to your psychiatrist. And I frankly don't give a damn if you go or not. I just refuse to help patients violate their terms of treatment." And, regretting every word and drop of venom in the chastisement, she brushed past him.


	7. Dollhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Everyone thinks that we're perfect. Please don't let them look through the curtains."
> 
> Particular TW for supernatural elements

"Party, huh? And who's hosting it?"

Casey kept her tone even as she answered, "Claire Benoit. The class president."

"Like that means anything," Uncle John retorted. "Will there be drinking? Drugs?"

_ Probably.  _ "Not that I know of. And if there are, I'll call you to come get me."

"You better. You don't need to get tangled up in that shit. You've been doing well with keeping out of trouble lately, I don't need you thinkin' you're invincible."

She nodded in understanding and rested her face against the cool window. Far more urgent matters were occupying her mind, such as the regret she felt at shutting Kevin out.

_ It's not your fault. You're new to this friendship thing. And you were right, you might be his friend, but you're still somewhat responsible for him. _

The truck chugged into the driveway, and Casey hopped out, eager to put the day behind her. Two patients came and went from the office that evening, she and her uncle ate a frozen pizza, and they retired to their respective rooms for the night without a word.

_ Time to make the rounds. _

_ I pace along the narrow upstairs corridor to ensure nobody disturbs the home's tenants. Heinrich trudges up the staircase, and I hand him the keys to the attic, urging him to remain as silent as possible during guard duty. They won't hear us anyway, if he remembers to guide the attic stairs carefully to the floor, but one can never be too cautious.  _

_ I descend to the main level, only to find him scrubbing the dishes. _

_ "Dennis!" I cry out. "Both the owner and the child are here, and upstairs! How do you suppose they'll explain finding their dinner plates spotless if neither of them bothered to clean them in the first place?" _

_ "Doesn't matter," Dennis mumbles. "That man stumbles around half the night in a stupor anyway, and I'm not leaving these to encrust for days on end." _

_ I reach out a hand to place on his shoulder, attempting to force a calm aura through him. However, he hastily darts away. _

_ "My apologies, Miss Patricia, but I've seen your influence on the others among us. You're not pulling your little magic tricks on me." _

_ "You speak as if I'm setting out to bewitch you," I respond. "If you would like to argue some sort of case against my leadership methods, be my guest, but I hope you realize nothing will change." _

_ Dennis's posture stiffens for a brief moment as he glowers at me. However, he soon realizes that any display of dominance would be futile, and so returns to his chores. I subsequently concede my control over the situation and pass by him to a parlor the tenants deem the "living room". I seat myself on the end of a faded cloth chaise and ponder the man rubbing his physically nonexistent hands raw with the soapy sponge as he scrubs the dishes. _

_ Dennis. I've since forgotten his surname, but he was the first to join me here. He's always guarded the group as well as the tenants that have come and gone since the incident. He's also always been excessively tidy. He informed me once that his father had been a compulsive cleaner and habitual attendee of the gentlemen's club, so he learned habits both satisfactory and undesirable. However, when I made his acquaintance, he was a man broken by a cycle of abusive relationships and unwilling to endure any more toil at the hands of a loved one. As such, I welcomed him into my care. _

_ "Mith Patricia!" I hear a child lisp as he patters down the stairs and toward my seat. He holds a box for a videotape high above his head, and I can easily tell he's on the verge of begging. _

_ "Pleathe pleathe PLEATHE can we watch cartoonth tonight, Mith Patricia?" he inquires, unable to understand the concept of rules applying as part of a routine.  _

_ I click my tongue in disapproval. "Now now, Hedwig, you know that the owner may come downstairs and investigate if we turn on the television set, yes?" _

_ He huffs and starts to stomp his feet in protest of my directive. No matter, he needs hobbies enriching for a nine-year-old boy anyway. His adoptive parents neglected to raise him as a proper young man, instead depositing him with me and my wards before driving off to New York for the weekend and never returning for him. _

_ I gently grasp his small hand and guide him toward the office door. Orwell should be there reading a novel aloud to a handful of the other wards. Orwell, the spurned history professor with a passion for educating the masses, who lost everything when he was discovered for partaking in plagiarism. I lift Hedwig from the floor and place him in a center seat in the front row, ensuring he has a front row seat on the reading of...Crime And Punishment? I didn't realize the tenants' tastes were quite so bland. Unless, of course, the text had been tucked away in the attic and he retrieved it for himself during guard duty. Anyway, it's no surprise that most of the wards seem more content playing card games in the back corner with a deck of cards they nabbed from the kitchen when Dennis had his back turned. _

_ That is, except for two, who sit sewing with the same intensity with which the child tenant transforms her encounters with us into artwork. Barry and Jade, lifelong friends and beards, a respective fashion designer and model, conduct their nightly routine of creating couture from their cache of fabric stolen from the attic...and occasionally, as I've been disappointed to learn, from the closets of prior tenants. They're eternally grateful that the attic is essentially a black hole, that all prior tenants have vacated the home without collecting their heirlooms. _

_ I've always blamed them for plotting to cause this parasitic cycle. They're quite frankly the least subtle people I had ever met, and sooner rather than later they asserted their presence among the tenants, scaring them out of their minds to the point of hasty flight from the house. I suppose the unlikely pair behaved in this manner from the moment I met them; they had burned brightly on the fashion scene until their amphetamine addictions led them to burn out. The other wards accepted them with open arms exactly as I had taught them. _

_ Currently, they were sewing a simple evening gown, scandalously tight according to the nearby sketch but able to cover skin and prevent the others from seeing Jade's usual harlotry. I never quite understood her desire to act like a sex symbol, considering her preference toward other young ladies, but she insisted "femme" this and "subversion" that, so I refused to entertain any further argument on the matter. _

_ With the sixteen other wards, we formed a family. At their lowest points, I welcomed each and every one into my care to assist them in regaining control of their lives. They were all so young, so promising, and didn't deserve a fate such as this. As the race to create suburbia swelled around us, the house that once stood on this exact plot was deemed "too antiquated" and "an eyesore." However, I refused to sell it, fearing the homelessness that my beloved wards would suffer as a result. Unfortunately, rumors were spread that we were operating a cult, and one fateful night, the structure fell prey to a gang wielding Molotov cocktails. The city deemed it a generic tragedy, the contractors built anew, and we became guests in our own home without any chance at justice. _

_ Hedwig always seems morbidly interested in the story. He believes we're superheroes for being able to survive such an evil crime as burning down a group home. Restraining myself from reminding him that we did not actually survive becomes a greater challenge every time he says so. _

_ And preventing myself from telling anybody the truth is even more difficult. _

_ Something has followed me as long as I can remember. Something sinister, arcane, and untouchable. I pleaded with it the night the house burnt down, but it refused to listen and chose to collect my own life as payment for some false debt first. When I awoke in my new ethereal form alongside the others, we all saw its dark form towering above us. We battled it and managed to contain it, hoping to dispose of the malice it contained. However, its flames had bound us to the property, and we were forced to chain it up and lock it in the attic. _

_ It never told me its name or purpose. That didn't prevent me from informing the wards that it was a ghost like us, but so consumed with vengeance that it lost its human form. I established constant guard duty for it, claiming that it would actively harm the tenants if it were not contained.  _

_ That lie has proven to be grounded in truth in the meantime. It capitalized on any hint of rage experienced by tenants over the years, escalating verbal spats into violent fistfights. More often than not, whoever had been tasked with guard duty that night could force it to cease its mischief with intensive prayer before any lasting impacts were created. While it could only act at night, the animosity it showed was quite persistent. A particularly toxic relationship had erupted into eternal hatred when one guard failed, but all of the wards recognized that those tenants were doomed to fail in love anyway. _

_ I am disturbed from my thoughts when I hear the distant click of an upstairs door. Rushing back to the main parlor, I glance up the staircase and am horrified to find the owner swaying as he trudges down the corridor to the child's quarters. One of my greatest fears is that this already dastardly man will be influenced by it and will bring lethal harm to his frail niece. I've become rather fond of her, and she seems to realize to some extent that we exist and cohabitate with her. She's such a delicate child, and I recognize her resilience from Dennis's own conveyed experiences in such a helpless situation with his ex-wife. _

_ Without another second of procrastination, I hasten to the second story and trail the owner into her quarters. He's holding a lit cigarette, and I immediately know his intentions. I blow out the crimson embers and rest a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him back to bed. He must still be angry with her for proposing the idea of her attendance at this celebration tomorrow evening. I heard him reluctantly agree to it as they ate dinner, but that was the only conversation they dared engage in the entire evening. _

_ While his means of punishment were appalling, I can understand his concern. Recently, the child has been checking her...what is it, again? "Cell phone?" Whatever it is, she has been staring at it more intently than usual. I've barely witnessed her use it before, but now, she taps away at it quite a bit. I have no idea as to what could be engrossing her attention to such an extent and can only guess that she is communicating with somebody she may not be allowed to speak to in person during the evenings. Her countenance lights up whenever it notifies her of some sort of update, and she chuckles quietly to herself before snickering, tapping away, and returning it to her bedside table. I've also noticed her conversing with one of the owner's psychiatric patients twice now, but they seem to be rather courteous to each other. Perhaps she has a beau? Or maybe she is concealing their friendship for ethical reasons. Either way, I'm concerned that he may land her in some serious trouble. _

_ Is it dawn already? I suppose I should ascend to the attic and allow Heinrich to rest. It's always weaker during the daytime, weak enough so that I can restrain it from its hijinks. I hear the others following me up the stairs to return their hobby paraphernalia to the attic so as not to be discovered by the tenants, who are beginning to stir themselves. I only hope that the child protects herself at this gala tonight. Knowing the youth these days, she may very well need the assistance of her gentleman caller if the festivities become too rambunctious. _


	8. Homemade Dynamite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A couple rebel top gun pilots flying with nowhere to be. Don't know you super well, but I think that you might be the same as me."
> 
> Particular TWs for sexual harassment, fistfighting, and drug use

Casey couldn't bear the frigidity between herself and Kevin the next day. They still hung out as normal, but their banter had been replaced with deafening silence. She contemplated asking him if he was upset that she tried to leave him out, but then realized she didn't actually know why she chose not to extend Claire's invitation. Neither of them truly believed her "psychiatrist's receptionist" spiel.

_Let a little loose, Casey. It's not like you know how friendship works._

She frowned at the self-deprecation as her uncle's truck chugged into the opulent subdivision. While she wasn't ecstatic about the idea of walking into any crowded social gathering, let alone one where complete anarchy was guaranteed, her pride forced her to attend. She felt that, if she didn't show her face now, Kevin would win...something, some sort of battle of wills she hadn't figured out yet.

_Not everything has to be a fight._

The truck coasted to a stop on the street outside of Claire's house, where chaos was already at full throttle. The bass from the music pounded through Casey's feet from inside the house, party lights flashed from every window, and people flowed into and out of each door at equal rates.

"You know, I'm not liking the look of this," Uncle John grumbled from the driver's seat, just loud enough to rouse Casey from her apprehensive catatonia. Hearing his protest inexplicably strengthened her resolve, and before he could continue, she shoved the door open.

"If I'm uncomfortable, I'll call. I promise," she lied. "See you later."

He mumbled something under his breath, and she slammed the door before hiking up the cobblestone pathway to the front door. Several people stared at her confusedly as she plodded up the porch steps, but she kept her focus straight ahead.

_I have every right to be here. Even more right to be here than-_

"Oh my God, girl, hi!"

Casey's gaze snapped to the source of the slurred greeting. Claire strutted toward her from a table of desserts on the opposite side of the foyer, noticeably buzzed. Casey gave her a faux smile in response and darted her eyes around nervously, wondering how to function at such an event as this.

"By the way," Claire continued, resting a gentle hand on her guest's elbow and guiding her into the belly of the beast, "you kinda sorta NEED to do this look more often. You're such a babe, own it."

Casey blushed at the flattery, thinking that the intermingling pot and tobacco smoke clouding the air must be messing with her vision. She had certainly tried to look nice---her hair was less frizzy than usual, she had removed her hoodie layer and left her flannel open to reveal her long-sleeve, and she even managed to sneak some mascara into the look. Compared to all of the gracious hostess's wealthy friends, however, she knew she was plain and forgettable.

"So yeah! Help yourself to anything on the snack table, anything at the bar. The pit's in the living room, there's doors all around in case you need air. Pool's out the back, quiet room's on the third floor. Thanks for dropping by!"

After the quick explanation, the varsity point guard tapped her on the shoulder and whisked her away, leaving Casey in the middle of the foyer, stunned by the assault her surroundings posed to each of her senses. She stumbled into the main hall and started to turn left before seeing a large grinding crowd in the center of a room with rainbow club spotlights strobing around the room. The DJ, whom she recognized from her accounting class, stood behind a makeshift booth in the back corner of the room, blasting the music so loudly she could feel her teeth rattle. Without a second thought, she retreated and snaked around the central stairwell, past the bar, and out the back door. 

She leaned against the iron railing on the back patio, staring past the swimming pool and allowing her mind to spiral from sensory overload. _Why did I even come? There's too many people, whatever contest you think you're in with him isn't worth this-_

"Didn't expect to see you here."

She inhaled deeply and ran a trembling hand through her hair before turning to greet Kevin. He strode up to her from a pair of open French doors further down the patio that led into the mosh pit in the living room. Casey crossed her arms and leaned sideways into the railing, knowing and not caring that she had completely failed at appearing nonchalant.

"Didn't expect to need air within five minutes of coming, but here I am."

He chuckled in response, but it lacked the vivacity that her smart remarks usually inspired. She could tell that none of the ice between them had melted.

"I'm sorry, Kevin."

He snorted as he stepped toward the railing and leaned on it with his left hand. "For what, exactly?"

Casey sighed, shook her head, and broke their tenuous eye contact. "Being such a prick about…" She made a vague, grand arm gesture toward the turmoil surrounding them. 

A half-grin formed from the corner of his mouth, and he reached into his jacket. As his hand returned to her line of sight, she noticed two blunts pinched between his index and middle fingers.

"Peace offering?" he asked, passing her one.

She smirked and resignedly took the gift. He then materialized a lighter from the other side of his jacket and lit it for her.

"So this was what you decided to bring to pass around, huh?" she inquired as she took a hit. "Not to be a downer, but...you know what'll happen if your parole officer realizes this isn't a study session."

"I've got my backpack stowed in the quiet room in case that old bag of dust needs photo proof," he answered smoothly. "And I didn't bring all of it. Wish I could get hooked up with someone with that big of a supply. Somebody with connections in the city sold the edibles and a ton of joints to Claire before anyone else got here. I only brought enough for my friends."

He punctuated that with a wink, and she giggled slightly, noticing how quickly the weed had melted her typical defenses. She didn't bother asking where he obtained his own cache, deciding that she didn't need any incriminating evidence against whatever dealer was holed up in the shady locale the court chose to house Kevin in.

She was just glad she had a friend again.

While Casey knew that she wouldn't be able to fool Uncle John when she left at the end of the night, she was already high enough to not care. She and Kevin simply stood there, smoking and cracking jokes and singing along to the music inside as off-key as possible.

"Wanna dance?"

The invitation caught her off guard, and she chuckled slightly at the thought before taking another hit.

"Hate to break it to you, but I don't dance."

He cocked an eyebrow at her and extended a hand. "Me neither."

Both blunts nearly gone by now, they snuffed them out on the railing, and both of the remaining stubs went into Kevin's jacket pocket. He led her into the crowded living room, the beat of the music and the flashing lights further disorienting them as he shoved toward the middle of the group. The music faded out slightly for a moment, and he gently wrapped his hands around her wrists. When the beat finally dropped, he led her in swaying back and forth and waving her arms around, creating a mock ballroom dance with her as she giggled and let him take over their freestyle.

After a while, he let go of her. Though they each continued to dance apart awkwardly amidst the grinding bodies that constituted the rest of the crowd, she became suddenly aware of their separation and wished she could still feel his fingers wrapped delicately around her arm…

_Wait, where did he go?_

The bodies around her blurred together, and she couldn't see Kevin anywhere. She forced her way to the outside doors first, but he wasn't in the backyard. Hoping he might have snuck off to the bar, she returned inside and squeezed around the outer fringes of the mosh pit, attempting to keep herself from being drawn back to the center.

"Well well well, Little Miss Casey Cooke!"

Casey couldn't identify the voice or the face that emerged from its general direction as she tried to figure out who had noticed her. After a few blinks, she realized it was Danny Drake, the quarterback and her table partner in art class.

"Oh, hey Danny," she slurred out, breathless from the growing smog in the room and the body heat generated all around her. She wasn't a particular fan of him, but he wasn't as big of an asshole as most of his friends.

"Care for a dance?"

 _Kevin's probably mingling elsewhere,_ she convinced herself before taking Danny's hand and allowing herself to be dragged back into the abyss.

He placed his hands on her waist, and they swayed back and forth at the same rapid pace as the music before she realized that his hands had drifted below her hips. Her hand slid from his shoulder down his arm to guide the wandering appendage back to safe ground, but this only worsened the problem. As Danny shifted his hand back up, he made a point of sliding it underneath her shirt so it brushed against her otherwise covered midriff.

"Danny," she started to protest before he quickly pivoted her around to shove his groin into her backside, causing her to yelp. She tried to push him away, but he firmly held her in place as he started to grind. "This isn't funny."

"It's not supposed to be funny," he mumbled in her ear, smirking all the while. "Figured you'd want to have fun for once, you're so damn pretty and I don't understand why nobody's jumped on that yet."

She wanted to fight back, but ice washed through her veins. All she could muster the strength for were weak pushes away from his grasp and raising her voice to warn him away. Dread and helplessness dulled her senses even further than her high had, and an exacerbated version of the spiral she felt at the beginning of the night overtook her mind.

**_Crack!_ **

All of a sudden, Danny let her go, and she whipped around to see why he had so suddenly caved to her insistent refusals. He had staggered backward, deeper into the crowd, blood starting to trickle from his nose. Meanwhile, Kevin glared up at him, cracking his neck and shaking out his right hand. Without missing another beat, Danny lunged at his assailant and landed a fist on Kevin's sternum.

Casey jumped back in fright, starting to cry as Kevin choked and attempted to catch his breath. Meanwhile, Danny put him into a chokehold, the music stopped, and everyone moved away from the fight to watch. She could see Kevin's face starting to turn purple as she yelled at Danny to stop.

He finally broke free by landing an elbow in his attacker's crotch. The large guy crumpled to the ground, shrieking in pain, and Kevin jumped him and landed another solid punch to his jaw. He wrapped his left hand around Danny's throat and beat on his face further with his right fist.

_Stop him. Now._

Casey leaped forward and grabbed at Kevin's shoulders and arms, pulling him away from Danny with every ounce of strength she had. As small as he was, he was still muscular and strong, but most of all persistent. She couldn't wrestle him away until she grabbed him by the crook of his right elbow and his left shoulder, dug her heels into the floor, and stumbled back. He was breathing like a bull, she wrapped her fingers around his arm to prepare for another onslaught, and Danny was helped to his feet by a couple members of the crowd.

"He was gonna fucking kill me! Somebody call the police, he wanted to kill me!" he yelled. Kevin tensed up, ready to attack again, but Casey moved her grasp on his elbow down to his wrist and started to run her thumb back and forth over the inside of his forearm while chanting a quiet but firm "don't" over and over in his ear. 

Claire shoved her way up to the DJ stand and wrenched the microphone away from its holder. "Nobody's calling the police!" she scolded before making eye contact with Casey. She didn't need to question the message Claire was trying to convey for one second, and she slowly turned Kevin toward the staircase and guided him along with a small hand placed in the center of his upper back.

"You know, it makes sense," Danny called after him. "He probably wasn't happy with putting just his mommy in the ground."

Both of them stopped dead in their tracks, and Casey knew that if she didn't act, murder just might be the end result. Justified, but not a chance she was willing to take. 

"Quiet room. Go. Now," she whispered to Kevin. "I'll take care of it."

He didn't budge for several moments, and as Casey sauntered past him toward Danny, molten iron sparking in her eyes, he twisted his body to watch what exactly she was planning.

Danny grinned arrogantly as she strode up to him and raised a hand to place on her shoulder. "See?" he started. "She has tas-"

She bent the fingers on his raised hand back, not far enough to break them but just enough to make him cry out. He wasn't able to vocalize the pain, though, as her other fist had landed directly on his Adam's apple.

"Don't fucking touch me ever again," she spat at him before pivoting and returning to the stairs. She didn't even look at Kevin as she brushed past him, for which he was grateful. Otherwise, she would have seen the blush that burned across his cheekbones. Realizing that everyone was still glowering at him, he finally exhaled and followed Casey upstairs.

As she gazed out the window of the soundproofed room, waiting for her uncle's truck to roll up soon, she didn't hear the small knock on the door. Her attention was only brought to her visitor as the door creaked open. She swiveled her head toward the entrance and breathed a sigh of relief upon realizing it was Kevin.

"I'm so sorry," he stated, breathing shaky. This prompted Casey to stand and pace toward him. "I should have handled that bet-"

She wrapped her arms around him in the best bear hug her small frame could muster. He froze at first, stunned by the motion, before slowly squirming his arms out and returning the hug.

"Don't apologize," she mumbled into his shoulder before pulling away to make eye contact. "I mean it, I can't thank you enough."

He gave her a slightly melancholic smile. "I should leave," he said. "I need to call a cab, nobody's gonna be too fond of me staying here for long."

She nodded in understanding. "My uncle's going to be here shortly. See you tomorrow?"

A genuine smile blossomed on his face. "Same time, same place."

Casey was reluctant to let go. She could still see violent waves crashing in his blue eyes, and his muscles were still tensed for action. However, the buzz in her pocket signaled that, if she didn't leave soon, she would have far bigger problems at home. She exited the quiet room and hastened down the stairs and out of the house without another word to anybody else.


	9. This Is Gospel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The gnashing teeth and criminal tongues conspire against the odds, but they haven't seen the best of us yet."

The next morning was unusual, to say the least.

Waking up particularly groggy with a weed hangover, Casey stumbled into the shower and allowed the hot water to steam up her bathroom and clear her sinuses. She was still impressed with herself for covering up her high so easily, but a well-placed suggestion that Claire had been angry with whoever brought several bongs convinced him that neither she nor the hostess were entirely to blame for her state that night.

Late for her morning shift, Casey hustled through her morning preparations and darted downstairs to the office. Kevin was already outside the front door, and, with a polite smile, she opened the door to let him in.

"You're looking pretty chipper after that hellscape of a party last night," he chuckled, trailing her up to the front desk.

"A little bit of steam does wonders," she answered, "but I would maybe NOT mention that in your session today."

"Well well well, are you trying to hijack my appointment?"

She snorted at the suggestion."No, just trying to save your ass." With that, she flipped open the calendar, made a check mark by his name, and penciled in an appointment at the exact same time the following Saturday.

"Seriously, though," Kevin continued, "are you holding up alright? I saw your face when he started getting too handsy, you looked…"

Casey brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. "I'm fine. Thank you. He got what he deserved."

He noticed that her sketchbook wasn't on the desk and almost said something. Almost. While he respected her hobby, the opportunity to actually talk was…

... _ beautiful. _

Their banter that morning lacked its usual edge, for the short time they were able to converse. Uncle John emerged from his office earlier than usual, but they both immediately pretended he had merely been checking in. She was disappointed when they retreated for the appointment, though she would never admit such a feeling. For the first time, conversation was comfortable.

_ So that's what having a friend feels like. _

That Monday, Casey didn't approach the front doors of the school right away. She slowed her pace, not noticeably enough to appear any different in her departure from her uncle, but lagging enough to not pass Kevin as she listened for the truck to speed away. As she heard the rumble of the engine leave the circular driveway, she snuck a quick glance behind her and veered off her course to the young man in the leather jacket.

"I don't have any blunts," he greeted, hands raised and a smirk creeping onto his face.

"Well, that's a damn tragedy," she laughed, voice ringing like windchimes with optimism that wasn't suited to the early morning. "Any fun and exciting events for your classes today?"

He snickered in reply. "The hell do you think?"

The pair started for the front doors, comparing schedules to see whose day would be worse. Casey eventually conceded that the computer programming project Kevin didn't know about until last Wednesday that was due by the end of the school day for a class he fought tooth and nail to drop out of which he hadn't started yet was the clear winner. They parted ways until lunch.

The first abnormality Kevin noticed then was that she wasn't drawing. The first time, two days ago, he wrote it off as artist's block or neglecting to grab her sketchbook as she sprinted into the office. Twice, though...he was worried for her.

"Hey," he greeted her softly as he sat down at their table. "Are you okay?"

She bit into a breadstick and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Just...you're usually so content with drawing the entire lunch period. I just thought something was up."

The corner of her mouth curved up into a grin and she continued eating, bringing a napkin up to cover her mouth. "No, but thanks for the concern. I don't know, I just haven't felt like drawing recently."

That wasn't a total lie. Her dreams had dulled to a point where her nerves, burned raw by the intensity of her past visions, couldn't retain the images as well. She still wrote down what she saw in the morning, but that posed another peculiarity.

The last three nights, she saw the exact same woman standing with her back turned in the exact same dark room.

"Besides," she continued, "I'm not so sure how good my old work is for my mental health."

He chuckled in response, and they continued to converse. Their usual jibes were intermingled with everything else, but neither of them realized just how thickly they clouded chances for actual discussion. He asked her about her day, she returned the favor, he told her about having to resort to patchwork sample code for his project, she told him about the mind-numbing repetition of her accounting homework. And when the bell finally rang for dismissal, both were disappointed that they couldn't have more time.

Mr. Dean's class was utter chaos. Kevin started his usual antics early with a remark about the introductory discussion question, a quote about placing competent people in positions of power. Casey couldn't resist the opportunity to compound on it, especially considering the teacher's notoriety for not putting grades in on time. Recognizing that they could escape unscathed if the two perpetrators could, everyone else in the class stepped up to the plate with their own jabs at Mr. Dean, the school administration for which he was a loyal agent, and whatever manner of government officials they each harbored a distaste for.

Needless to say, while he couldn't punish everyone, Kevin and Casey were rewarded with detention that afternoon.

The phone calls regarding that matter were interesting. Since they were to immediately report to detention, Casey had to immediately endure a shouting rant from her Uncle about how he was sick of her stunts. Kevin, meanwhile, spent half of the hour they were locked in explaining to his parole officer how Mr. Dean was usually open to a civil debate, how detention wasn't going to be a new normal, and how, by the terms the judge laid out, this shouldn't affect him legally.

Meanwhile, to pass the time, Casey brought her sketchbook with her. She couldn't recall the full image of her dream at that point, so she settled on a new subject. By the end of the hour, she merely had the rudimentary shapes laid out, but that didn't matter to her. She was creating a masterpiece.

The next morning, she was greeted by soreness all over her body and a text from Kevin.

**What coffee do you drink?**

She narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion and smiled.

**When I have it, caramel macchiato w/ extra whip. Why? How are you paying?**

Without a reply, she eased herself out of bed and exhaustedly stumbled into her bathroom, ready to start her day. The previous night, calling Uncle John angry was an understatement. He shouted that "she had been doing so well" and he "told her to stay away from Crumb." Her answer was a small fib, that she merely saw the opportunity to scold Mr. Dean's teaching practices and would have done so no matter who started the riot. Uncle John wasn't particularly fond of her derision for authority, and…

Casey rubbed her eyes as she stepped back into her bedroom and pulled on her usual outfit. Except this time, she took an extra moment to look in the mirror. Finding her hair frazzled and her clothes wrinkled, she ran a brush through her hair one more time than usual and smoothed out her outfit before trudging downstairs.

_ Weird. Why do the little things bug me today? _

The ride to school was uncomfortably quiet. She ate her breakfast sandwich in silence, balling up the tinfoil wrapper as the truck entered the driveway.

"Hey. Look at me."

Her hand was already on the door handle when Uncle John's low growl stopped her dead in her tracks. Outside, she caught a glimpse of Kevin staring discreetly at the truck before she turned around.

"I don't want you pulling any more of that shit today, alright, Casey-bear? You seemed to be getting the message that you need to respect your teachers more, and I don't want any more phone calls."

She nodded while peering at him through slightly squinted eyes and shoved the door open behind her. Her slightly slowed trudge up to the front doors matched yesterday's, and once she was certain he was gone, she approached Kevin.

"Sorry about yesterday," he mumbled to her as he reached to the stone ledge behind him.

"It's fine," Casey answered quietly, shivering at the breeze that blew past them. "Maybe Dean'll start grading papers on time."

This inspired a full laugh in her companion, and he brought his arm back around, a cup of coffee in hand. She took it carefully, grateful for the warmth it imbued in her stiff hands, but also mildly concerned as they pivoted for the entrance.

"You never answered my question," she spoke up. "Did you get a job or something?"

He paused for a moment, maintaining his grin and eye contact, before responding. "Building's run down and occupied by some busy people. So I just take care of odd jobs."

She smiled at him, hoping to conceal her curiosity about the inspiration for this sudden altruism.  _ Then again, it wasn't like he picked a fight with Danny Drake for selfish reasons, either. _

They started to walk to class, and Kevin raised an arm before gently resting it over her shoulders. This caused her to flinch, grimace and stop walking, and he retracted his arm before stopping and turning back to her.

"Hey, sorry, are you okay?"

Realizing her mistaken instinct, she nodded hastily and gave him the best smile she could muster. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just...slept wrong, my shoulders are really sore."

He didn't buy it for one second, but he wasn't about to pry into information she wasn't comfortable with disclosing. "Okay. Sorry, I was just…"

_ Worried about you. _

"It's totally fine!" she blurted out with a strained happy lilt. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

He nodded at her before darting down his own hall, wondering what nerve he might have struck. She, meanwhile, berated herself for her dishonesty, resolving herself to figure out why she couldn't tell him the truth.

Both were grateful with the persistence of this new daily pattern. Every day started with Casey listening for Uncle John's departure before veering toward Kevin to receive her morning coffee. They chatted about their evenings, as boring as they were, until they had to part ways for class. Lunch brought gripes about the first halves of their respective days, blended with mutual roasting. Sometimes, this was accompanied by Casey drawing her latest creation; other times, Kevin brought a deck of cards to play as they ate and talked. When Mr. Dean's class rolled around, both of them held their tongues, but when one participated in discourse, the other gave their opinion whether it corroborated the other's response or not. And, in the evening, they would either continue the great debate or send memes back and forth.

The weekend was the worst. They didn't mind conducting their usual topics of conversation over text, but they outspokenly agreed it lacked the amusement of seeing each other's reactions. Casey spent her weekend continuing her masterpiece, Kevin spent his doing odd jobs and homework, and that was that.

The following week was more of the same, and Casey couldn't be happier. This didn't go unnoticed by Uncle John, however, and that Thursday evening, he felt the need to mention her cheerier disposition over dinner.

"You've seemed happier recently, what's up?"

_ Shit. He can't know. _ "Oh, um...after Claire apologized for the trouble at the party, she invited me to start hanging out with her friends at school."

"Well, good for her. I'm glad you've made some friends."

She grimaced internally at the implications of the statement, and they went back to eating in silence. They almost finished the meal before he spoke again.

"You know what tomorrow is, right?"

"Um...Friday?"

"Yes, Casey-bear, but also. Tomorrow's your birthday."


	10. Bad Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Darling, I've been having weird dreams. I don't know what they mean, but I know I don't want to."
> 
> Particular TW for supernatural elements and alcohol use

Birthdays were always a rough subject for Casey. She never met her mother, who had died during childbirth, and her father had died of a heart attack on her eighth birthday. He and Uncle John used to take her out hunting every year. Since then, she only received a card from her uncle, who would usually drink himself to sleep that evening, and, if she were lucky, a cupcake from the store. When they moved out to Philadelphia, he didn't even acknowledge the last two birthdays, but she didn't really mind.

**_Bzzzt-bzzzt_ **

So she wasn't sure why she decided to share this information with Kevin when she retreated to her room for the evening. She lifted her phone from the bedside table and unlocked it.

**The big 18 tomorrow? Adulthood sucks, trust me.**

She snorted in response, trying to think of what she could possibly say. The less she focused on the mortal terror that was turning eighteen, the easier she would probably sleep that night. Uncle John might be plotting some kind of small surprise to make up for how he neglected the admittedly lackluster event in the past, or he could be planning to shove her out of the nest. Either way, the implications were unsettling.

**LOL I'll bet. It's NBD though, I haven't really celebrated in years. See you tomorrow.**

Casey turned off her phone screen, set it back on her bedside table, and let sleep consume her. It would just be another day, and she needed to rest.

_ Time to make the rounds. _

_ I drift past Felida as she ascends to the attic for guard duty and carefully step down the staircase. Tonight, Dennis isn't doing dishes, but rather sweeping the kitchen's tiled floor. I had cautioned him several nights ago to only clean if he could ensure it was unnoticeable. He certainly dragged his feet upon receiving the directive, but clearing the dust and grime the tenants tracked in was a decent compromise for the time being. _

_ Hedwig sits on the living room floor, scribbling on a piece of paper stolen from the office. Normally I would chide him for such misbehavior, but as of late, I've sensed my strength inexplicably draining. _

_ I suppose I should speak with Felida and inform her of my concerns, if only as a precaution to guard it with a more watchful eye than usual. Perhaps later, but for now, I need to check in on the others. _

_ I pace through the office door to find Orwell and Mr. Pritchard conducting a debate regarding the merits of honesty in fiction for an audience. Barry and Jade are stitching together a lace pattern resembling a doily near the front door, but while I am curious as to what their latest creation could possibly be, they've shut me out as of late. They aren't too keen on sharing their plans for this evening gown, and I've been rather concerned to see them hosting secretive conversations with Kat. She was arrested as a con artist for her fortune telling business, but she truly believed that she could see the future. Either way, the pair never used to associate with anyone outside of a larger group setting, and their scheming has put me on edge. _

_ I retreat to the kitchen and gaze around me at the cabinets, drawing a glare from Dennis as he works but knowing that he wouldn't dare attempt to escort me away. Hedwig is thankfully content with drawing, as I do not know what I would say if he began asking to listen to stories at the moment.  _

_ The child has seemed happier recently. I am certain the owner's patient has set out to become her beau, and I'm not convinced that his efforts would ultimately be in vain. However, since the upturn in her mood, she's ceased her daily drawings in favor of a portrait I still cannot discern. I worry that she's seen it, and that my energy has drained as a result of her failure to make our interactions tangible due to fright. I may have fallen out of her favor, as she no longer seems to require my care in the evening. I hope that I have not allowed anything to slip by that would upset her. _

_ And so I know what must be done, something I promised myself to never do again. Unfortunately, the most difficult of choices require an iron will. _

_ I let out a large sigh and open the alcohol cabinet, pleading with myself for the strength to carry out the necessary next steps. Settling on a partially-empty bottle of merlot, I pour a glass and seat myself on a bar stool. Dennis darts a glower at me for adding to the mess he must clean by morning, but I've earned a moment of indulgence. _

_ "Have a seat, my child," I instruct him. "You've done well." _

_ Dennis rolls his eyes and reluctantly rests the broom against the wall before stalking over to the bar. "Is there an issue, madame?" _

_ "Yes. Well, maybe not. I'm uncertain." _

_ "How so?" _

_ Another deep sigh escapes my throat. "Do the others trust me?" _

_ He cocks his eyebrow. "How do you mean?" _

_ "Do they believe I have their best interests at heart?" _

_ "I'm sure they do. Why? Do you think…" _

_ "If there's a mutiny, none of them would be stupid enough to act," I murmur, attempting to conceal the conversation from Hedwig if he may be eavesdropping. "All of us know what would happen if animosity were to sprout with it still residing upstairs." _

_ "I understand, madame. So what is your concern?" _

_ I mull over the words for a moment. "I've become rather fond of all of my wards. You are all my family. And so, I worry...I'm afraid of all of you losing touch with the world that you were ripped out of so suddenly. And so I feel that my growing weakness may be a sign that all of you are to follow." _

_ He nods with a stone-faced compassion, his eyes glimmering with anxiety behind walls of ice. "Do you think...it's draining you?" _

_ "I believe it wants to see me. I swore to myself that I would not reopen that wound from my past...but I must. I owe it to all of you." _

_ The faintest smile blooms on his face, and he rests a strong, gentle hand on my shoulder. "You're a kind woman, Patricia. Do as you must, and I will take care of the explanations." _

_ I murmur a small expression of gratitude, and he reaches for my empty glass. My eyes are unconsciously directed to the staircase, and my mind wanders to what I would even say or do when I look it in the eyes. Perhaps I will regain my unseen control over the peace of these most unusual tenants. _

_ Or perhaps I will be forced to face the truth. My truth. _

_ No matter. I stand and stride to the staircase, prepared to confront evil in His purest form. _

"NO!"

Though the protest was barely above a whisper, Casey felt like she was screaming at the top of her lungs. Her arms and legs thrashed beneath the quilt, but she couldn't open her eyes. She felt a heavy hand forcing her downward, stared in the face of a dark body with needle-like teeth surrounded by blinding white light…

And then woke up.

She jolted up in bed, arching her back before sitting upright. Her entire body shook in mortal terror as she attempted to catch her breath and ease her heartbeat. Whipping her head around revealed nobody in the room, no monsters in sight, and she lifted her trembling right hand to the bedside table. Her fingers crept toward her phone, and she turned on the screen to check the time.

_ Two AM. What the fuck just happened? I didn't move at all, but I felt...light as a feather...and that thing looked like it was...HUNGRY. _

**_Creeeeeeaaak._ **

Casey directed the light from her screen to the source of the noise. The door to her room slowly opened inward, and she waited for the tirade from Uncle John that would follow about her making such a commotion and being on her phone in the middle of the night.

But nobody entered.

She gingerly swung her legs out from under the covers and tiptoed to the open door, peering down the hallway outside. There were no signs of movement in the corridor. Uncle John's door was shut tight, and the house only creaked as it typically did.

_ My throat is so dry...I need water. _

She snuck out into the hallway, turning around every three seconds due to an unshakeable feeling of being followed. As she descended to the kitchen, she kept her steps close to the banister to prevent excessive creaking that could alert her uncle to movement.

_ There's a scratching noise downstairs. _

Hastening her journey, she planted a foot at the bottom of the stairs and darted her gaze to the living room. A single sheet of paper with something drawn on it rested in the center of the floor, and a pencil rolled in a circle over the hardwood. She crept toward the strange artifact and lifted it, tears forming in her eyes at the sight.

A crude, childlike incarnation of the monster in her nightmare was scrawled over the page. Several stick figures surrounded it, arms raised in various displays of what she assumed was aggression. One of the stick figures, however, stood out from all the rest, positioned particularly close the unholy being

_ A woman. Long dark hair, a long skirt… _

_ Just like in all the other dreams. _

**_Fwsh-fwsh-fwsh…_ **

Casey froze at the brushing sounds coming from the kitchen. She hadn't heard her uncle follow her, nor had she seen any lights on when she originally came downstairs. Allowing the paper to glide to the floor, she cautiously walked backward toward the kitchen, afraid that the picture would disappear and that she was truly losing her mind.

**_Wham! Clatter-clatter-clatter…_ **

The crash rang in her ear, and she pivoted to discover the source of the din. Still rattling slightly from the fall, a broom lay on the floor, handle angled toward the office door. Tears started to roll down her cheeks as she approached the broom and reached out to tap it with her foot. It did not make another movement, and she whipped her head around, acutely aware that she was not alone.

That's when she heard whispers welling from behind the office door. Several, as if there were an entire gang within the house.

She wanted to scream for Uncle John, but her throat still felt like her throat was stuffed with cotton. Her arms went slack, so she couldn't reach out for the faucet to obtain the water she needed in the first place. The only muscles that functioned were in her legs, which carried her to the door.

Her vision went black. A cold hand rested on her shoulder. She felt herself crumple to the ground, and a whisper tickled her ear.

"Rest, my dear. You will meet Him soon enough."

**_Beep-beep! Beep-beep!_ **

Casey's eyes flew open, tattooed with the vivid dreams from last night. Her gaze was immediately thrown toward the door.

_ Closed. _

She turned back to the clock, wary of her relative lack of exhaustion. Sure enough, it read 6AM.

_ Downstairs...was THAT a dream, too? _

"Casey, hurry up! Let's get this show on the road!"

Resigning herself to the mystery of the situation, she slid out of bed, wondering what the day could have in store. Her routine went by as usual…

_ Oh right. My birthday. _

As per the new usual, she put extra care into the frizz and wrinkles. However, in some sort of underwhelming celebration of the day, she revived the appearance she had worn to Claire's party before trudging downstairs.

"Now, that's no way to act on your special day," Uncle John mock-scolded. "Tell you what, I have appointments until four-thirty tonight, but after that, we can go to a steakhouse."

She narrowed her eyes at the kind gesture and grabbed her breakfast sandwich. This inspired a hearty laugh from him.

"Don't be like that! I figured I owed you something after the past couple years of forgetting!"

She sighed and flashed him a fake smile, still relatively shaken from the strange events of the early morning.

"Okay."


	11. Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I don't want a never-ending life, I just want to feel alive while I'm here."

It was six-thirty in the morning, and Joseph Dunn was early to school as usual. An aspiring cybersecurity specialist first and a student second, he never shied away from an opportunity to practice his hacking skills, especially if he stood to benefit. Today's task was cutting losses from a failed World of Warcraft campaign by raiding a gold farm's database.

Needless to say, he didn't expect his visitor that morning.

The door to the computer lab swung open, and Joseph jumped out of his skin when he saw his new classmate from first period, Kevin Crumb, stride across the room toward him with an expression that meant business. He immediately raised his hands.

"I swear, if I was stealing from your supplier, I'm sorry!" he blubbered. "Please, just don't hurt me!"

Kevin stood dumbfounded for a minute, then burst out laughing. "Is that what you gamers worry about all the time?"

His expression returned to stone, and he leaned toward Joseph and lowered his voice. "I've got a business proposition, geek squad. You're a hacker, right?"

Joseph nodded and swallowed nervously.

"Fantastic." Kevin pulled up a chair from behind him, sat down, and swung the leg with the tracking anklet onto the desk. "Fifty bucks if you can make it show that I was here until 4PM today."

"Wait, that's illegal!"

"Yeah, and so is hacking a barely legitimate business to steal fake money."

Joseph heaved a sigh. "One hundred bucks."

"Deal. And if I'm paying more, you better get it done in less than an hour. Along with one other thing."

Casey was extremely confused at Kevin's absence from his usual post by the front door. Not that she was excessively concerned for his safety; he was certainly capable of handling himself. However, given the information she had imparted last night, the deviation struck her as rather…

... _ convenient. _

"Have a good day, okay?" Uncle John wished her from the driver's seat. "And don't forget, I'll be here late so we can get dinner."

"Got it," she blurted out without looking back as she shoved the truck door open. Without slowing her gait as usual, she strode up to the front doors and pushed through, ready to finish the day with or without Kevin. She greeted Claire with a simple "hello" before yanking her locker open.

"Hey, Casey!"

_ Speak of the devil. _

She smirked at him as he approached from a distant hallway, hastily shoving the contents of her backpack into their rightful places all the while. "You know, I almost thought I wasn't gonna get my morning coffee when I saw you were missing."

Instead of a characteristically snide remark, Kevin simply grinned and replied, "Yeah, well, you can order it yourself today."

"What? Why?"

His expression became sly as he leaned into the locker next to hers. "I mean, the reason I wasn't out front was because I was getting...logistics together."

Casey rolled her eyes. "Yeah. And just what does that mean?"

"It means I had a little help jamming my tracker and shutting off the alarm on the library's back door."

She was on high alert now. "So what exactly do you intend to do with this little escape plan?"

He chuckled to mask his excitement. "You tell me. I've got a hundred bucks, two baseball caps, two pairs of sunglasses, and the entire city of Philadelphia."

To call Casey perplexed was an understatement. "You don't mean…"

"Happy birthday!"

She wanted to protest. She knew that, if Uncle John found out, any chance at a truce over steaks would go out the window. Instead, she found herself lunging into Kevin's arms and hugging him as tight as she possibly could.

"Oh my God, thank you!" she mumbled into his shoulder before pulling back. "Wait...how much trouble did you have to go through for all of this?"

He broke eye contact by a millimeter before answering. "I made a lot of extra money from the other tenants in my building. Seems like everyone needs a jack of all trades."

Casey pulled him in for another hug and whispered, "Thank you. Let's get out of here."

They managed to slip out of the library without any hassle, but now, as they sat in a nearby coffee shop, Casey could feel the scrutiny of others at two apparent teenagers skipping school, especially one who may or may not be a murderer. Though their faces were covered by their accessories, caution would certainly be a virtue in this venture.

"Are you alright?" Kevin piped up.

This startled her, but she gave him a quick smile to ensure that she was well. "Yeah, I'm just…you're SURE that your tracking anklet is disabled?"

"Only until four. And even if it isn't, that's my problem to deal with. You just need to focus on having the best eighteenth birthday ever and leave the rest to me."

She rolled her eyes and smirked at him. "If you say so. Then, might I ask...what do you have planned?"

This evoked a snort from him. "I don't have plans, Casey. Only ideas."

Casey let out a small, ringing laugh in response. "Give me two options. We can make it up as we go."

"Alright. Cave that housed a doomsday cult, or outdoor street art galleries?"

She considered it for a second. "Galleries. Unless you don't want to..."

He mock-scoffed in reply. "Don't be silly, I'm the one who invited you!"

With that, they both heard the bus pull up outside, and the pair darted out the front door.

The ride into the city was slightly uncomfortable for more reasons than one. Every seat was taken, leaving the two to stand in the aisle, and the roads were less than even. Every jolt from the bus sent a shock of pain into Casey's knee, which was freshly bruised from some unknown event. She thought that maybe she had hit it when she fell in the kitchen last night…

_...but that wasn't real. You must have hit it against the wall. _

Either way, the inexplicably vivid nightmare had scared her away from whatever cave Kevin had wanted to explore. She still couldn't process that he had gone to such great lengths to take her out on a birthday date.

_ It's not a date. It's just two friends cutting class...right? _

**_Thunk!_ **

The bus drove over a pothole in the street, jostling Casey and causing her to stumble. She gripped the steel pole tightly, and as the bus swayed, she staggered around it before finally crashing into Kevin, who gently raised his free hand to catch her arm as she fell. She immediately stiffened at the contact, prompting him to retract his hand, and she smiled up at him in apology, but he simply pointed past her.

"Now you, Casey, are in for a treat."

"A...bike rack?"

Kevin snorted and rolled his eyes before resuming his wicked grin. "A bike-sharing station. The main attraction doesn't open for over an hour yet, so...why not go on an express graffiti tour?"

Casey opened her mouth to say something, but snapped her jaw shut immediately, unsure of how to process the proposal. There were no tandem bikes, and she hadn't been on a bike since she was seven.

"You alright?"

She was jolted out of her scrutiny of the situation by Kevin's expression of concern. That was when she realized he had already paid for one bike and was wheeling it out onto the sidewalk. He noticed the concern on her face over the predicament and remembered his courtesy.

"Sorry, I should have asked. Do you want your own?"

She mulled it over for a moment, but something prevented her from taking him up on the offer. "You know, my riding is...rusty. And you're the expert here, so…"

He smiled and nodded in understanding. "Gotcha. There's a bit of space from the carrying rack on the back, but if you're more comfortable sitting in the front and I can just steer-"

"It's fine! I can ball up my flannel and sit on it."

The second the suggestion escaped her mouth, she was puzzled by her own intentions. Her layers had always been a shield from judgment, and stripping down to her long-sleeve, no matter how much skin it covered, felt…

_ Wrong. Vulnerable. _

Nevertheless, she created the makeshift seat behind Kevin. She couldn't quite figure out where to position her arms, until he gently guided them by the wrists over his shoulders. It seemed such a simple gesture, but as he started pedaling away, she couldn't shake the flutter of goosebumps over her forearms. Knowing that the morning breeze could just be funneling through her sleeves, though, she chose to ignore it for the moment.

As they cycled on, a tracker on the bike began to beep, drawing Casey's concern. However, Kevin assured her it would be fine, as long as they got out of dodge after returning it to the next sharing station, since the alleys were outside of route boundaries. Not questioning the young man's street wisdom, she leaned into the wind as it whipped past, billowing her hair in a banner behind her, and turned to watch the graffiti murals as they zipped past.

She never expected the possibility of being so disappointed at the end of a mere bike ride, but as her companion docked the bicycle at the next station, she could have sworn that she almost missed the feeling of leaning into his back. As he led her toward another new building, flannel now tied around her waist with no chance of being worn for the rest of their adventure, the paradox of their friendship rolled around in her mind. She felt safe, like maybe one day she could trust him with her darkest secrets.

But this safety was tenuous. She was harnessed into a rollercoaster car, gazing up as the train climbed the first hill, anticipating the terror and excitement of free fall. 

Kevin turned around as he pushed open the door to guide her inside. "I know for a fact you're going to love this!"

Casey grinned at him in response. For now, she could sit back and enjoy the climb while it lasted.

The pair strolled through the mosaic-lined halls, admiring the kaleidoscopic sunlight as it shone through the glass shards and reflected off the twisted metal around them. Casey didn't understand how she had never heard of this place before, but she knew her uncle never would have taken her here even if she asked. He never understood her fascination with art, saying she was setting herself up for poverty. She certainly couldn't say the same for Kevin, who took enough pictures for both of them.

Kevin, on the other hand, felt mysteriously at home among the strategically-placed fragments and, despite having visited only once in middle school, held a newfound awe for the shattered beauty around him, snapping pictures at every turn. Some of the pictures may or may not have been over Casey's shoulder, just to capture her in the shot as well. He swore to himself he would delete them if she asked.

_ But she seems at home here too. A flower in a garden. Who wouldn't want to remember that? _

The sentiment came out of almost nowhere, which only puzzled him more. As their friendship had grown, he began to notice things that clued him into the possibility of a kindred spirit. How she flinched at first when he touched her before accepting the contact, how even on a warm day like today she chose to wear long sleeves, how easily she settled into matching him socially after finally dropping her defenses...he had his suspicions, but that was her matter to discuss.

"You know what I love about all of this?"

His attention was directed back to her as she asked the question, and he watched as she formed the words.

"Everything is...broken. It shows that you don't need to fix something to make it valuable...just rearrange it a little bit."

He didn't know how to process the beauty in her observation, nor in the poeticism of the fact that she of all people said it. So, he resorted to nodding and changing the subject. "You know, the zoo isn't too far from here. We can get something to eat there, if you want to go."

Casey was snapped out of her state of wonder and started to raise a hand in refusal. "I couldn't. Tickets for both of us...I don't want you to run out of money for the day-"

Kevin laughed calmly and started to brush past her, backpedaling as he went. "I knew you'd say that. Which is why I borrowed a couple of membership passes from old friends."

As she followed him, she cocked one eyebrow. "Borrowed, huh?"

He did his usual gesture of feigned offense. "Yes! Borrowed! I still have connections here in the city, too!"

While his reference to his friends as "connections" was dormantly unnerving, she trailed him out of the exhibit, and they trekked toward the zoo.

"And this right here is  _ Melursus ursinus,  _ the sloth bear," Kevin continued, gesturing toward an exhibit while Casey trailed at a waning distance and finished eating her fries. "They're all sleeping at the moment, but the minute you piss one off, you're dead, because it WILL catch up to you."

This evoked a chuckle from her as she deposited the now-empty fry cup in a trash bin. "You know, I never would have pinned you as an animal person."

He laughed and hung back to keep pace with her. "Yeah, well, I've always loved zoology since I was really little. Ever since…"

Kevin paused, and Casey whipped her attention to his face. She could see the words forming, but something else, something gloomier, crawling across his expression, which lacked its usual mask-like pleasantry. She had accidentally struck a nerve, and a storm of regret surged within her.

"Hey."

Kevin snapped out of his overwhelming melancholy and looked over at Casey, who promptly continued.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, okay?"

A genuine smile crossed his face, and he nodded before speaking up. "Well, I showed you all of my favorite animals. Any other suggestions?"

She thought for a second. "Any good ice cream places on our way back?"

"One in a park near a bus stop. We could walk around there for a bit before we head back, if you want."

She gestured for him to lead the way to the zoo's exit. The rollercoaster feeling had returned again. Only this time, she was much closer to the peak.

And for the first time in years, her mind felt alive.


	12. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah, I'd rather be a lover than a fighter, 'cause all my life, I've been fighting."

The nearby park was in early spring bloom as Casey and Kevin sat on an iron bench, eating out of a shared tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. The buds on the trees had some semblance of a rosy flush, which would surely blossom radiantly so long as a cold snap didn't set in. Pansies and irises lined the brick walkways, and whatever grew from the vines entangling a nearby pavilion was starting to break through its pale verdant shell. All the while, the pair rested with their sunglasses on and the brims of their hats down, guarding themselves against any prying eyes.

"Thank you." 

Kevin turned to look up at her, resting his ice cream scoop against the tub's rim. Casey had long since stopped eating, and was now staring out at the passersby. Though the sunglasses covered her eyes, he could sense the pensiveness within her.

"No problem. Are...you okay?"

She laughed lightly and nodded before meeting his concerned gaze. "Honestly? Never better."

He gingerly reached an arm out to drape over her frail shoulders, but, remembering how she flinched when he attempted to do so the prior week, settled with patting a hand on her shoulder. "Happy birthday, Casey."

She launched herself into him with her arms spread, not settling for anything less than a hug, and he tensed up. And somehow, he couldn't relax into her touch this time. When she realized his discomfort, she slowly retracted her arms and made eye contact, clearly distraught at her faux pas.

"Look, I'm sorry, I should have asked first, I can't believe I didn't before-"

"Casey…"

The brief exhalation of her name both calmed her and chilled her at the realization of all the boundaries she had crossed. He was her uncle's patient first and foremost, and she shouldn't be making contact.  _ Shouldn't feel like I have all day. _

"You know, my first toys were a set of plastic zoo animals I found in my father's things when I was in second grade."

Casey snapped her gaze to him in time to see him take off his sunglasses. The storm was surging in his blue eyes, but no rain came. He merely hunched over and stared absently over the grass.

"My mom was pretty pissed that I had snuck into his old office. Neither of us really figured out how I got past the billion locks she had on that door, but...I'm pretty sure that's why I've always loved the zoo so much."

She wanted to tell him everything was okay now, that he didn't have to relive his horrible childhood to explain his lapse earlier. "Is it okay if I touch your shoulder?”

Kevin chuckled with slight bitterness before meeting her worried brown eyes. "You never have to ask, alright? I know you just wanna be careful, but..."

"But what?"

"But I trust you with that. I've trusted you to be respectful of that since I first laid eyes on you."

This caused her heart to flutter from a blend of joy and confusion. "Why?"

He cocked one eyebrow. "Hm?"

"I mean," she continued, hastily snatching her own sunglasses off her face, "why would you ever trust me? I work for your therapist, for Christ's sake, a therapist who is probably the least aligned with the judge who saved you from prison as someone can be. And I gave you the cold shoulder until that party."

He reached back to scratch the nape of his neck before answering.

"I don't know."

She barely contained an astounded scoff. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I mean," he started to lash out before realizing he had startled her and reigning his tone in, "I mean, I could tell you were different. I'm great at reading people. One of my symptoms, I guess." He punctuated this by gesturing to the top of his head.

Casey wasn't having the implication of this statement, and she frowned at him. "Different, huh? And just what do you mean by that?"

"I knew you could help me."

She snorted slightly, and a sly grin returned to his face before sarcasm accompanied the melting pot of emotions within her. "Yeah. Probably more than the man himself. At least I don't act like a damn drill sergeant."

Kevin laughed loudly and lifted his ice cream scoop from the tub before angling it toward her. "Cheers to that."

Casey picked up her own scoop and tapped it against his, allowing the breeze to carry the clinking sound away as they returned their scoops to the bucket. 

"Seriously, though," he continued, "I've never had an actual friend that didn't want something from me in return. I thought acting easygoing with everyone would help, but...in the end, those threads just kinda snapped, I snapped, and I didn't care how angry I got."

This frightened her, as she wasn't quite sure where he was going, but she nodded along in empathy anyway.

"And I knew I needed to control myself better. I needed to practice being a normal human being. I'm never going to be what anybody considers 'normal', but I thought maybe if I tricked them enough, I could do my time on the outside and get it over with. And so I guess I imprinted on you a little bit when I first saw you at the office." (Some indignance had built within Casey leading up to this simile, which was shattered as the visual of Kevin as a duckling caused her to giggle.) "The thing I didn't count on, though, was you being so...resistant? No, not really that. Unwilling at first, but always planning to cave. And once you did, you threw my mischievous bullshit right back at me. And after the party, when you approached me that Monday morning, I realized I had been right when you fell into the pattern that every other peer had. You did need something from me like everyone else. But that something was a friend."

Casey didn't even realize that a single tear had rolled down her cheek until Kevin offered her a napkin from his jacket pocket. She raised a hand to decline, and both settled back into the bench and sat in observation of the lush park before them.

_ This is it. The top of the first hill. _

While she wasn't high above an amusement park, the view she was afforded by the verdant space, pinpricked with spring colors, was enough of a landscape for her to realize exactly where she was. Not merely sitting beside Kevin, relaxing before they would have to hurry back to the school and cover their tracks, but at the peak of the rollercoaster she had been on all day. Paused in time, waiting for the train to drag her down, anticipating the free fall.

Until she realized gravity wasn't going to take over just yet. Part of the tracks behind her were still holding on, keeping her from moving forward, and she needed to rock the cart away before she could feel her weight pressed against the metaphorical harness.

"You know, you're only half-right. About what you think I need."

Kevin smirked and crossed his arms tauntingly, maintaining his line of sight over the park. "Oh really? And what's the other half?"

Without a second's hesitation she leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek.

A blush blazed across her cheekbones as she returned to her original position, she darted a glance back to him as she tried to act like it was no big deal. This glance only revealed that he, too, was flushed, and starting to chuckle lightly as he looked down at his lap. A flustered smile broke out on her own face, and she mirrored him as she tucked a wisp of hair back into her hat.

"Is that so, huh?" he asked, turning his neck so he could witness her in this unprecedentedly vulnerable state, so embarrassed and happy and beautiful.

"Yeah. But, if you only needed someone to help you adjust and be your friend as well, I get it. I was kinda being a little too forward-"

"Look at me."

The command was gentle, and she obeyed. His cerulean eyes sparkled, and a smile stretched from ear to ear as he cocked his head to one side. He brought a hand up to her face and brushed his index and middle fingers over her soft cheek, disrupting her serene expression with a brief shiver as her eyes shone like bronze in the sunlight.

"Now, now," he finally coaxed her as he opened his palm and cupped her jaw, "don't be a stranger."

Kevin brought his lips to Casey's, allowing them to interlock softly as his other hand drifted up to her face. Stunned, she kept her eyes open for a second before her eyelids shuttered closed and her hands started to lift to his shoulders. The warmth of his breath tickled her skin, and soon she returned the smooth, gentle motion, pressing into the kiss more firmly and allowing her hands to clasp behind his neck.

Her head started to spin, and she knew that the free fall had begun. He nipped slightly at her bottom lip, and the sensation tickled slightly, causing her to laugh. This provided the gateway he needed to deepen the kiss.

His hands slid down to her waist, and he pulled her tighter to his body, burning up as he allowed the whim to guide his attention. Had he not still felt the rigid bench beneath him and kept in mind where they were, he would have surely allowed his tongue to join the mix. But for now, the drifting of mouth over mouth, the small jolts of pleasure as they nipped back and forth, was more than he had ever expected to receive from the gracious human being in his arms.

When Casey finally broke for air, she was acutely aware of their location, and her blush returned with a vengeance at the realization that others had been briefly watching. Kevin's eyes fluttered open, and the storm in his eyes had subsided, instead reflecting the afternoon sunlight and glistening with elation. She finally returned her focus to him, became aware that his face was just as red as hers, and giggled slightly.

"I guess that answers my question."

Kevin rested his forehead against hers and chuckled at the observation. "Which was?"

"What you're trying to gain from all of this."

He traced his left hand back up her side, causing her to shiver, and rested his palm on her neck as he gazed into the depths of her eyes. 

"Would you believe me if I told you I didn't know that until now?"

Confusion painted in broad strokes over her original blissful expression, and she drew back slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean...I thought you were just a friend I needed to help me get my life and my act together. I didn't realize until today just how much I enjoy your company, and…" He sighed, unable to discern the words he needed to convey the turmoil he had felt since the realization without offending her. "...and I guess I'm not used to this. I care about you, alright?"

With this, he finally pulled away, tongue-tied and trembling as he feared for what she would say next. This always happened. When people found out that he wasn't exactly the sort to bond with people, they cast him out, and usually he saw it as being for the better. Not this time.  _ Good God, don't let this be the case with her. _

The anxiety melted away as he felt her slender arms drape around his shoulders, and she placed another kiss on his cheek, softer and slower than the one that had started this gorgeous internal chaos in the first place.

"I understand," she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. "I really do. And trust me when I say that I never could have expected this, either."

They sat like that for several more minutes, losing all concept of time until they heard the screeching of a bus's tires as it chugged along the street circling the park. Kevin pulled out his phone to check the time before planting a hurried kiss on Casey's scalp and lacing his right hand with one of hers to remove it from his shoulder.

"It's quarter past three," he murmured. "We need to head back now.

She whimpered slightly in protest, causing him to laugh mildly as he untangled himself from their embrace, and yanked her off the bench. This startled her, and she giggled as she staggered forward, crashing into him as he collected the leftovers from the ice cream. The scoops he had grabbed when the store owner wasn't looking went into his jacket pockets, the tub was thrown into the trash, and he held her hand tightly, comfortingly, as they darted to catch the bus before it rolled away.


	13. Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Life goes on, it gets so heavy. The wheel breaks the butterfly. Every tear a waterfall, in the night, the stormy night, she'll close her eyes. In the night, the stormy night, away she flies."
> 
> Particular TWs for domestic violence and supernatural elements

It was quarter until four when the bus pulled up a block away from the school, and with their disguises on, Casey and Kevin quietly slid out to the sidewalk. They snaked along the brick walls, hands laced together, silent save for a few giggles they managed to choke back whenever a passerby turned to stare at them oddly. Eventually, they snuck around the back of the school, slipped in past somebody who was exiting through that wing, and paused by a directory on the wall to figure out where exactly they were.

"I had a lot of fun today," Casey whispered as Kevin traced each hall with his pointer finger. "Seriously, thank you."

He snorted, and his grin widened. "I swear, you've probably said more 'thank yous' today than that Mean Girls song."

"Um...okay? Tha-" She caught herself before erupting into a fit of giggles.  _ How does this keep happening today? Why am I so… not normal? I'm so confused. _

"Got it," he finally announced to his audience of one, swapped the hand he was holding for her other one, and slung his arm over her shoulders as they strolled through the burgeoning mob of students toward their respective lockers. A few people gave them the side-eye as they passed, but that hardly mattered. Kevin confidently strode onward with a grin on his face, his face mostly hidden anyway by the makeshift disguise, while Casey lightly squeezed his hand and moved closer toward him.

When they were finally forced to diverge, she hesitated a moment before starting to remove her baseball cap. He rested his free hand on her wrist and peered at her from over his glasses.

"Keep it. It's a birthday gift."

A mild pink blush arose on her face. "I know you're tired of hearing it, but thank you."

Her concern led him to chuckle. "Nah, it's not a big deal."

With that, he suddenly twirled her in the middle of the corridor to free his arm from her shoulder, and she cried out in delight as she attempted to maintain her balance without crashing into anyone around them. Thankfully for her, he immediately pulled her back into a brief yet enveloping hug. She savored the feeling of his arms around her one last time before he finally retreated and sauntered off to his own hall.

"See you tomorrow!" he shouted back to her through the crowd.

"Same time, same place!" she replied cheerfully before dodging through the crowd to her own locker.

Once at her destination, she removed the cap and sunglasses before examining the logo on the former. It read  **Philadelphia Zoo** , and she couldn't prevent the soft smile from returning.  _ He planned this. Of course he did, the cheeky bastard. _

Setting an alarm for herself to check the student copy of the lesson plans later, she crammed her books into her backpack, carefully placed the former disguise on top of them, and shrugged her flannel back onto her shoulders before exiting the front doors and planting herself on a bench outside. 

Casey knew she was in deep trouble when Uncle John drove straight home after picking her up. He didn't say a single word to her during the entire drive, and she slowly slid out her phone to occupy her mind.

**43 Missed Calls**

**128 New Messages**

_ Well, fuck. _

The truck finally chugged into the driveway, but after he turned off the ignition, he didn't move at all. He sat there like a statue, heavily breathing and glowering out into empty space. Rage poured out of him, and Casey began to tremble in anticipation of the eventual eruption. Finally, after what was probably five minutes of her watching him with gradually mounting terror, she opened her mouth to speak before he interrupted her.

"Kitchen. Now. Wait there until I come inside."

Her lip quivered, and tears began to well in her eyes as she gingerly unbuckled, gathered her backpack from the floor, and slid through the door behind her. She trudged around to the side door, trying not to sob.

_ Run. Run. Run. Run. _

This time, the sourceless thoughts came in a barrage of commanding voices, some with strange accents, others with childlike inflections, all in a panic. And the only way she could prevent them from overwhelming her entirely as tears streamed down her pale face was with a mantra of her own.

_ What would Kevin do? _

_ I'm afraid I'll have to make the rounds early this evening. _

_ The others are all gathered in a circle in the living room, anxiously awaiting my directions. Dennis has managed to keep them silent regarding the impending predicament, but word of the owner's anger at the child has spread without even mild resistance. I knew I should have prevented Barry from speaking when I realized he had eavesdropped on the impassioned voicemail tirades. I had watched the owner's face flush bright red as he bellowed into the telephone and furiously typed out a multitude of messages on his cell phone, listened as he swore to himself that the child would "get what was coming to her," and looked on with horror as he made several separate calls to cancel his appointments for the day.  _

_ All of these theatrics over a call at around ten this morning. I couldn't figure out who the informant was, but I recognized imminent disaster when I witnessed it. _

_ I stroll into the center of the congregation and clear my throat. Dennis retreats from his position as interim keeper of the peace and seats himself between slouching Luke and smoking, lifeless Rakel. Hedwig and Polly gaze up at me with terrified eyes, both the Reynolds twins and Barry and Jade are huddled into each other in comfort, and everyone else remains stunned as I begin my address. _

_ "As you all know by now," I say, my voice barely quaking as I grasp for the statements I need, "there exists the possibility of extreme danger for the young lady tenant, Miss Casey. While it is currently daytime, I am unsure of the nature, the length, or the susceptibility to influence of this confrontation. As such, I am ordering all of the gentlemen in our company, excluding Hedwig, to ascend to the attic for guard duty until tomorrow morning." _

_ "But Mith Patricia!" Hedwig whines in protest. "If she's in danger, I can-" _

_ "You'll do as you're told!" Dennis snaps at him from across the circle. _

_ "That is quite enough!" I shout, aiming to regain control of our dwindling time. With a deep breath, I resume. "Now, I want everyone else to retreat to the office. Go about your usual nightly routine, you will be expected to assist me if Miss Casey needs medical attention after their argument as well as pray over her as she sleeps. Nobody, I repeat, NOBODY is to enter the kitchen to ensure my or her safety until I instruct you to do so. I will prevent the situation from escalating to any event horizons, but I need you to realize the owner is far more violent and resistant than any other in the past. Am I understood by all of you?" _

_ A unanimous chorus replies, "Yes, Miss Patricia." _

_ I hear the din of the engine in the owner's truck rumble outside. We need to act now. "Wonderful. Men to the attic, women and children to the office. Now."  _

_ As the others disperse in their respective groups, I watch the outside door intently, impatiently awaiting some sign of approach. Finally, long after the attic stairs have been withdrawn and the office door has been bolted shut, the child enters. After cautiously guiding the door closed behind her, she allows her school bag to slide down her arms and land on the floor with a loud thump. She ambles toward the bar and assumes a seat on one of the stools on the parlor side. Tears have already stained curved paths down her cheeks, but her face reflects righteous indignation as she rests an elbow on the counter and rests her face in her palm. I barely hear her as she repeatedly whispers a simple, resolved phrase to herself. _

_ "Don't take it. Make it up. That's what he would do." _

"Now, just where the hell WERE you all day?" Uncle John yelled at Casey as he approached the bar. She remained silent, glaring daggers directly into his eyes before he backhanded her in the jaw and she crumpled to the ground. Grimacing at the stinging pain, she swung her legs around and backed away from him across the floor. However, he reached down for her bicep, dug his fingers in like talons, and yanked her off the floor before throwing her onto her original stool.

"I'm going to try again, and if you insist on being childish about this, I'll beat your ass. Where were you all day?"

Casey inhaled, briefly shut her eyes to think of an excuse, and released her breath before glowering up at him. "I told Marcia from art class yesterday that today was my birthday, and she invited me to go to the mall to celebrate."

"I don't want any bullshit!" Uncle John screamed at her before pinching the bridge of his nose. "First off, with what money? You expect me to believe that you went shopping without pocket money?"

She contorted her features into a facade of agitation. "Her treat. She brought money for both of us, but I told her I didn't want her to buy me any clothes or anything I would have to bring home-"

"Shut your damn mouth!" Another aggravated inhale and exhale, and he planted a hand on the countertop before yelling directly in Casey's face. "My other point is, why the fuck did I receive a call this morning saying that not only was my niece missing from all of her classes up to that point, but my criminal psychiatric patient was nowhere to be found despite his GPS tracker reading that he was there the entire morning?"

"I don't know!" she shrieked back, her patience dried up, desperate to divert the attention away from Kevin, tears back with a vengeance and skin red with frustration. "You told me not to get too close to him, so I didn't! For all I know, he could have been holed up in the back of the library trying to get some goddamn peace and quiet, but the minute you told me to keep my distance, I decided that he was solely YOUR problem!"

**_Thump!_ **

Casey reeled back from a punch that landed in the center of her stomach, the stool crashing to the floor in her wake. Uncle John towered above her before reaching down to lift her again, this time by the throat. Her leg flew up and hit him in the crotch, and as he slammed to the floor, she snaked out from under him and sprinted to her backpack. After throwing it onto her shoulders, she watched him carefully climb to his feet, angrier than a hornet's nest, and darted for the staircase.

"Go to your fucking room!" he screamed after her. "If I see you out of there before tomorrow morning, you'll have much bigger problems, you little bitch! You're lucky I didn't call the fucking cops for your little stunt today, you ungrateful-"

Casey slammed the door behind her, shaking so hard she couldn't breathe. She felt like she was drowning in her own tears, and after allowing her bag to drop to the floor, she followed suit and allowed the hard floor to absorb her.

After several minutes of allowing the panic to consume her, she clawed her way up onto the bed and resumed her task of staring at the ceiling. Uncle John wouldn't bring any dinner up for her, but she prayed internally that this would blow over by Monday.  _ At least now that I'm eighteen, I can't get in trouble for leaving. _

She snorted, and if she wasn't scared for another beating, she might have even laughed at the idea.  _ Where would I go that he wouldn't find me? _

**_Bzzzt-bzzzt_ **

Casey slid the phone out of her back pocket, astonished that the screen hadn't cracked after she had fallen to the floor multiple times. She quickly opened the new message from Kevin that had come through and stared at it intently, hoping to escape through the words on the screen.

**We all know where the Big Apple is, but how about where the...Minneapolis**

She groaned at the pun and typed a reply back.

**Jeez, you must be slipping.**

**I'd like to see you do better.**

She huffed and smirked, accepting the challenge.

**TIL Land O' Lakes got rid of the Native American on their packaging, but kept the land. Sounds familiar.**

**Oh shit XD Casey's not having it today lol**

Instead of responding, she dropped her phone onto the soft comforter and turned her gaze to her backpack. If she couldn't access a computer to get her homework, she could at least finish her latest drawing.

Two hours later, she looked down at the finished masterpiece and started to wonder how she hadn't expected the more gentle moments of the tumultuous day.  _ I've been drawing him every day for the past two weeks, for God's sake, how oblivious can I be? _

**_Bzzzt-bzzzt_ **

**You doing okay?**

She sighed and rubbed her tired eyes before answering.

**Yeah, why?**

**You never leave me on read.**

Casey wanted to fall into another fit of sobs at her predicament. He already knew something was up, so why shouldn't she just confide in him?

_ You can't provoke Kevin. If he finds out what kind of person Uncle John is... _

**John found out I skipped and got kinda pissed.**

**Damn, you okay? Sorry**

**No, it's NBD! And he knows about you skipping as well, so I just told him you were in the library.**

**Thanks :) Can I ask you something?**

**Yeah**

**What did today mean to you? At the park, I mean**

Casey rested her phone on her chest and let her eyelids drift shut. She tried to recall the sensation of his lips on hers, the slight bites of top teeth back and forth, the feeling of the breeze and how it felt heightened due to the internal sense of falling into something she didn't quite understand.

**It meant that I'm willing to see where this goes. I'm really tired, see you tomorrow morning.**

**Sweet dreams, beautiful**

Her heart fluttered at his final message, and she slammed her phone down onto the nightstand before allowing exhaustion to carry her away. For the first time, her dreams were pleasant; the primary sight was of several nuns praying in a circle and tending to a bruised young lady, whom her tortured subconscious took the opportunity to project onto.

And, later in the night, she saw herself in third-person, walking with Kevin down a verdant path, hand in hand, nobody else in sight.


	14. Irresistible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You're secondhand smoke, secondhand smoke. I breathe you in, but honey I don't know what you're doing to me."

Following a routine weekend, the next Monday was anything but.

Casey stepped out of her uncle's truck at exactly seven-thirty in the morning. Kevin was waiting by the front doors, but instead of nonchalantly people-watching as usual, he was slyly smirking at her from across the main walkway. She shot a glance back to Uncle John, who was thankfully checking his phone, before she slammed the vehicle door and strolled forth. He didn't even wait until the truck had chugged out of the school driveway before sauntering up to Casey and striding backward alongside her.

"And just how are you on this lovely morning?" he asked, a grin on his face and a flicker in his eyes. She didn't want to imagine what mischief he had up his sleeve this time, but she could barely finish rolling her eyes before the nervous giggles erupted.

"Tired," she croaked out. "Kind of sore...John made me do chores all weekend as punishment." 

Thankfully, he didn't notice her cringe at her own lie. Friday night had only been the beginning of his rage, and he didn't seem relatively docile until that morning. "Oof, kinda figured he wasn't just a hardass with patients. Thanks for covering for me, though. I didn't properly say so on Saturday."

_ There it is, the topic of the hour.  _ "Speaking of that...ah!" She winced as she yanked the door open, her shoulders tensing from the sharp pain. He rested a cautious hand on her upper back, opened it for her, and gently guided her through.

"You were saying?"

His voice, gravelly from the early morning, barely snapped her out of her trance, as she had enjoyed the feeling of his hand on her back way too much. She directed her stunned attention to him as they approached her locker, a nervous and dumbfounded half-smile plastered on her face, hoping to ground herself by focusing on him and failing entirely.

Kevin laughed out loud as he discreetly slid her backpack off her shoulders. Realizing that neither of the students whose lockers neighbored Casey's were present, he slyly smirked and turned her around.

She lost her breath as her back was gently but firmly pressed into the locker, and her vision was spinning from the feeling of his hands on her waist and the mischievous gleam in his bright blue eyes. Her hands hovered slowly upward and landed on his shoulders. But as he leaned in to kiss her, she pushed him back slightly.

"Not now. Not here."

Though disappointed at the refusal, he raised his hands in surrender and took a step back.

"I'm sorry. But really, what were you going to say?"

Having entered her combination as he backed off, a sight she would have avoided if the bruises on her skin weren't an omnipresent reminder that Uncle John had ways of figuring out what she was up to at school, Casey whipped her locker door open and unpacked her bag as she answered.

"I mean," she started with a firm tone, "that, while I'll be the last person in the world to snitch on you, I can't cover your ass every time you do something stupid."

"Stupid?" Kevin was barely offended and extremely confused. "Like what? Showing my girl a good time on her birthday?"

_ Fuck.  _ "Kevin, that's not what I meant. I enjoyed our day out, truly. I meant cutting class. And whatever whims you suddenly get to violate the terms of your parole."

He scoffed. "Whims. Listen, dollf- Casey, anything I do in violation of my parole, I do for a damn good reason. I've got an image to maintain, y'know."

She gathered her materials for her first few classes before slamming the door and pivoting around to look at them. "Oh yeah? And what's that?"

Instead of replying, he smirked and began to walk away. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Casey strode forth to cut him off before he entered the growing swarm of students in one of the primary corridors and glared up at him indignantly. "Yes, I actually would."

This inspired a second burst of laughter to disguise the fact that his thoughts were elsewhere. "Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"I asked," he said as he brushed past and slung an arm over her shoulder to bring her along, "do you trust me?"

_ I don't know.  _ "Trust is earned. You're the first person I've remotely liked."

"A beautiful way to dodge a question for a beautiful girl," he retorted snidely before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Her face flushed cherry red at the continued barrage of affection, and she felt the sudden urge to regain control of the situation. "I mean it, though. If you want to make your rehab more, I don't know, BELIEVABLE, then I really shouldn't cover for you when you decide to break a rule here or there."

An emotion Kevin was unfamiliar with swelled within him, and he hesitated before answering, allowing his expression to dull almost imperceptibly.

"I understand."

The promise to stay out of trouble lasted exactly three days. Casey was impressed, sensing that his sweet words and near-constant contact were an effort to gain her trust. 

That Thursday morning, she arrived to find Kevin arguing with one of the varsity baseball players in his usual waiting spot. Uncle John instructed her to stay out of it, so naturally she didn't after he drove away. She could tell from his posture that, while he was able to restrain his anger with crossed arms, it wouldn't be long until fists started to fly. As she approached, she caught scraps of what the taller athlete was saying to the scrappy young man.

"You see, that's my problem. You think you can step your sorry ass into MY school, start cozying up to MY classmates, drive MY pals out of-"

"Your school, huh?" Kevin managed to interrupt as he glimpsed Casey striding up to him. "My memory's a bit shot from losing brain cells listening to you blow smoke on and on, but I'm pretty sure that's almost what that piece of shit Danny Drake said to me when I kicked his ass."

The athlete snickered in his face, incorrectly believing this to be an empty threat and deciding to desert the conversation. "I'll leave you to your girl. Seems like you're the only one she'll put out to."

Casey could almost hear something in Kevin snap as the jackass sauntered away, but when he moved to follow, she rested a gentle hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. As he addressed her, she could hear him seethe within.

"You shouldn't have to put up with that shit."

She guided him inside exactly as he had for her that Monday, frowning as she contemplated the near-disaster and tracing small circles into his tense back.

"What were you doing?" she hissed at him when they reached her locker.

"What was I doing? He started spewing shit at me!"

_ Yeah, right.  _ "Okay, okay," she huffed, hands clasped behind her head as she turned around to make frustrated eye contact. "Then what did he want?"

_ To bite the hand that feeds him, I'd say.  _ "I don't know! He came up and started talking smack."

"Don't lie to me!" she spat before inner horror blossomed at the semblance the command held and she softened her voice. "I'm sorry, that was rude. Please just tell me what's going on."

"I already told you, I don't know why he decided to be a dick! If you ask me, he's had plenty of other opportunities to take my lunch money or whatever."

_ He's hiding something. _ "Kevin," she responded sternly, "Jim's not a nice guy, but he doesn't pick fights out of nowhere, either. What. Happened?"

Shock, disappointment, a third emotion Casey couldn't detect, and finally agitation washed over his face in quick succession, and he stepped forward, only taller by an inch or two but projecting an aura of looming over her. She shrunk back in fear, and he subconsciously retreated.

"Is that what you meant Monday?"

She froze in place at his cryptic question, refusing to answer until she was certain her interpretation was correct.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Kevin continued, venom in every word, "when you said trust is earned but I was the first person you actually thought well of. Did you mean that liking someone and trusting them are two different things?"

"Of course!" she shot back through gritted teeth. "That doesn't mean I don't trust you though!"

"Well, you seem to trust Jim What's-His-Face a hell of a lot more than you trust me." 

This accusation felt like a punch directly to the bruise on her stomach that had barely finished healing since Saturday. Casey didn't realize she had started to tear up, but as she locked eyes with him once again, a couple of tears rolled down her cheek toward her gaping mouth.

_ Tell him you're sorry. _

Instead of obeying her conscience, she crammed the remaining contents of her backpack into her locker behind her and gingerly paced forward. She raised her right hand to shoulder height, allowing her fingers to spread on their own and keeping her palm flat. The sternness of his betrayed expression softened at the edges by mere millimeters as he mirrored the motion, and their fingers slowly laced together.

And with that, she brought his hand down to her side and strode for the old science wing, her companion in tow.

"Hey, what are you- mpf!"

Casey ducked into a doorway just out of sight of the camera, pulling him in with a quick tug and planting her lips directly on his. Kevin quickly took over, refusing to let this be her own excuse for interrupting their conversation, and pushed her back into the brick wall.

She didn't protest one bit.

He bit at her bottom lip a couple of times, drawing a sharp breather each attempt, before he was finally able to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid into her mouth as his hands drifted from her shoulders down to her hips, which had angled slightly toward his. Her hands clutched at the border between his neck and jaw, and she allowed her own tongue to join the tango, savoring the flustered heat radiating off both of their bodies and intermingling as they made out in the abandoned hallway.

_ He's going to reach for your ass any minute now!  _ she panicked internally.  _ Keep your guard up! _

But he never did. Neither of them shifted their hands beyond a few square inches outside of their original positions throughout the five-minute session, and when they finally separated, vision blurry and skin flushed, they pressed their foreheads together in a security that was entirely foreign to both.

"Casey, please," Kevin murmured after a moment, "do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"I just think it's stupid, that's all."

Casey and Kevin were sitting at their usual lunch table the following Tuesday, her arms crossed and his behind his back in unusually giddy anticipation. He bit his lip before continuing the proposition.

"What if I told you I already bought the tickets for both of us?"

She rolled her eyes and moved her hands up to her face in frustration, perching her elbows on the table to create a nest for the pounding headache that the gorgeously intransigent young man inspired in her every day since their argument the prior week. "I swear to God, Kevin Crumb, if you make yourself pay for my shit one more time-"

"You'll do what?" he challenged with a cunning grin as he slapped a pair of prom tickets down onto the table. "Stop loving me?"

"No! I mean- wait- did you mean-" Her face was redder than a tomato as she failed at processing what he had just suggested, and he chuckled in cheerful mockery.

"If you don't want to go, though, there's a crackhead on the street corner by my building who I'm sure would look absolutely marvelous in drag who I could ask to take your place."

Her blush deepened, this time from hysterical laughter at his tease, and he suddenly burst out in gleeful laughs as well, ignoring the judgmental glowers from neighboring tables. It took five minutes for her chest to stop heaving from laughter, and she shoved a partial fist into her mouth to restrain herself until he followed suit and calmed himself.

"I don't have a dress, though! And don't think for a goddamn second you'll buy one for me."

This prompted him to wrap his fingers around the hand she held up to her face and pull her close, their faces just millimeters away. She drew in a sharp breath at their sudden closeness and was hyper aware of their surroundings.

"I'm sure you'll find something just as stunning as you are," he purred. However, the scheming glint in his cerulean eyes faded as she shoved herself backward from him and stared at him in indignant awe.

"I'm sorry. That was…"

"Forward. Yeah. It's okay, I forgive you."

Kevin didn't believe that as she grimly returned to her lunch. They had met the past few mornings before school, each time for a repeat of their Thursday rendezvous, each time pulling another brick out of the wall that the curiously beautiful girl had built around herself. But he thought he had almost seen terror in her eyes when he pulled her closer, and he wondered why the walls were suddenly reinforced with iron.

"I'll see what I can do."

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Casey's small murmur, and his eyes promptly found hers, glowing as she gingerly smiled at him with a weary yet contented smile.

"What was that?"

"I said," she restated, resting a hand on his neck and pecking a quick kiss to his lips, "I'll see what I can do. About a dress, I mean. I'd hate to have you roll up to prom alone like some kind of loser."

He mock-scoffed at the jibe, shot her a charming grin, and set a firm hand on her shoulder before finishing his meal. And as the bell rang for the next class and they parted ways, he realized what was truly enigmatic about the topic of his affection.

The closer he got to her, the more she froze him out. And it drew him in deeper than he could dare to follow.


	15. Mystery Of The Invisible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And it draws me with every breath, puts path beneath my step. And I’m haunted by how I’m comfortable.”
> 
> Particular TW for supernatural elements

"Prom, huh?"

The lack of overt anger beneath the grunted words gave Casey a glimmer of hope as she stood in front of Uncle John with her shoulders hunched and her arms defensively crossed over her stomach. He, meanwhile, was being absorbed further into the couch than usual as he glowered up at her, unafraid of challenging her in a staring contest.

"Yeah," she finally replied, her voice barely audible above the television. "Claire invited all of us at her lunch table over for prep and a sleepover after. She bought tickets for everyone, too."

The part about going to Claire's probably wasn't a lie. Since she was on student council, she had been the particular ticket seller that lunch period. She extended what Casey could only describe as a mercy invitation to their pre-party ("Seriously, girl, I've been there with a guy. You're going to want a cover story.") and was seriously confused as to why her popular classmate would want her to be involved with anything after the house party ordeal. Casey blushed profusely at the implication of Claire's offer but accepted anyway, knowing she had no other way to explain why she would need a fancy dress on such short notice.

Finally, Uncle John huffed out a sigh. "We didn't go up into the attic when we moved in. I know there were some highbrow ladies who lived here in the past. If you can find something up there, great. If not, you'll have to ask your fancy new friends."

Though frustrated, she greatly appreciated his apathy that evening.  _ At least he's not hammered and angry. _ This trend carried through to dinner, with the pregnant silence broken only once.

"I've got several on-site appointments out at Raven Hill Saturday afternoon. If you want to take that time to find your dress, I'll lock up the house and leave you to it."

She only nodded, somewhat stunned by his sudden trust for her to be left alone for the afternoon after her birthday.  _ Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, my dear. _

Those sourceless thoughts again. This one was an older lady, a voice she had heard both in her mind and in her dreams on several occasions. She hastily excused herself upon finishing the meal of undercooked pasta and plodded up to her room to get started on homework.

**_Bzzzt-bzzzt!_ **

**So what did the slave driver have to say?**

Casey snorted at the endearing nickname Kevin had assigned her uncle and promptly replied, all of the pieces of their evening conversation firmly in place.

**How would you feel about attic hunting?**

_ Time to make the rounds. _

_ The household has been quite peaceful since the altercation between the tenants. That weekend, the owner continued to release an onslaught of retaliation against the child, but I ensured that my ladies were there to tend to the wounds. Guard duty was increased to two per night, just in case, but in the weeks since, our schedule has adjusted back to normal.  _

_ On the matter of the child, she's seemed far more cheerful than ever since the incident. I am perplexed, but I have an inkling that my suspicions about the young gentleman patient have come to fruition. She fibbed during the confrontation that they had not been together that day, and ever since then, I've recognized the emotion that blossoms on her face every time she taps out a new message on her cell phone. _

_ Young love. _

_ Oh well, she'll learn soon enough. I knew I could empathize with her. I just didn't think the similarities would strike so close to home. _

_ And then there's the matter of this "prom." I inquired to Jade about what this could possibly mean, but all she replied with was a yell to Barry that their hard work wouldn't go unnoticed. I could only assume they were referring to their new dress design that they've stowed upstairs when the tenants are awake. The only way they would have created it with this end in mind is if they possessed clairvoyance, but Kat is very clearly a quack and not to be trusted. _

_ Either way, when the child first broached the subject two evenings ago, I began to include routine hourly knocks on the attic hatch as a segment of my duties to ensure that the nightly guard was conducting his or her prayers as normal to quell Him. I'm not fond of the idea of the child searching through the attic. _

_ But this could be my opportunity. My opportunity to finally welcome her into our fold. Though we exist on different planes, she is surely a broken being, a sparrow whose wings have been clipped, who longs to fly. This would be no easy task; if she enters the attic, she would be firmly in His domain, under His influence. _

_ Receptive to whatever secrets the walls of this house have witnessed He may whisper to her. _

_ Additionally, He wouldn't be the only negative influence upon her impressionable mind. While the incident two weeks ago revealed a beautiful display of unity among us, I've been sensing stirrings of discontent among the others. Dennis has vowed to maintain order, and Hedwig has been kept ignorant under my guidance. _

_ But how do I quell Orwell's increasingly rebellious stories, Barry and Jade and Kat's private consultations, the murmurs passed among the group in regard to Lord knows what, when there is only one of me? _

_ Perhaps I am overthinking their disdain. After all, none of them would actively betray me. I've provided them a second chance at a peaceful life. Without me and my reign over Him, their bodies would have simply decomposed, their potential of little consequence as their earthly forms rotted away in the frozen earth. _

_ Now I must carry out my tasks as normal. A sure way to sow distrust is to project doubt. I must be the graceful mother of the house, lest their theories receive any confirmation. _

At noon that Saturday, following the only appointment scheduled apart from Kevin's, Uncle John trailed the patient out and locked the office door firmly behind her. Casey leaned back nonchalantly in her office chair as he did this, only daring to move from her position once he instructed her to follow into the kitchen. Once retreated from the stuffy reception area, the burly man set to work locking up all of the windows and sliding deadbolts over every door.

"There, you'll be safe while I'm gone," he commented. "If there's any movement at any entrances, an alarm will go off, alright, Casey-bear?"

She nodded absentmindedly, pretending she didn't know what his exact meaning was. " _ I'll know if you leave the house." If only he knew. _

"Good. I'll pick up a pizza on my way home. Love you."

Casey mumbled gibberish that could be construed as "I love you too" and stared blankly at his back as he slammed the door and strode out to his truck. In the meantime, a grin subtly spread over her face, and she slowly slid her phone out of her back pocket.

**Wait five minutes, then come up. Walk around the back, I'll have a window open.**

With that, she scurried up the stairs to her room and crouched down to peer at the motion detector camera. A piece of black electrical tape that held the wire of the radio sensor to the window frame effectively concealed where Casey had peeled it back and cut the wire in the middle of the night. She gingerly reached her hand in front of it, almost terrified that she would royally screw up her plans, but not a peep erupted from the home alarm system. Next was a step up onto the sill, but even that didn't trigger the alarm, and she finally took the liberty of shoving the window open so that her awaited companion could climb the thin trellis outside.

She waited for about fifteen minutes, worried that she had been stood up for her attic adventure date, when Kevin finally crept around the back corner of the house and slinked up to the base of the trellis. He directed a smirk up to Casey, who smiled smittenly in return.

"But soft! What light-"

"Shhhhh!" she abruptly hushed him, stifling a slew of giggles. "Just climb up here!"

He hastily climbed the trellis, grasping each rung and planting his feet against the outside wall, until he could reach her outstretched arm and scale up through the window. Once he was securely inside, he wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a barrage of quick kisses.

"I appreciate your poetic display," she murmured in between as the brush of lips on lips became more passionate, "but if any of the neighbors hear-"

"Yeah, yeah, there'll be trouble," he chuckled into her slightly open mouth before seizing the opportunity to deepen the kiss. She gasped in reaction, then sighed as she felt her head spinning, slowly at first but then with dizzying intensity. Her hands snaked up his back, on the outside of his leather jacket, before clutching the back of his neck.

_ Oh my God what's going on we're alone together in my room what the fuck get out of there- _

Casey abruptly broke away from him, remorseful for leaving the heat that his body provided but too lightheaded and flushed to do anything else. To ensure he wouldn't be upset by her sudden withdrawal, she brought her hands around and cupped his jaw, leaned her forehead against his, and gazed into the deepest recesses of his eyes.

"How about we get to dress hunting?" she whispered.

"You're the host." With that, he kissed her forehead and finally let her go.

Casey snatched up his hand and guided him out to the second-floor hallway. Kevin could see the hatch in the ceiling long before the pair started toward it, and he involuntarily shuddered.

_ Hello, Kevin… _

"Huh?"

Casey turned back to look at him, but he was darting glances everywhere around the hallway. "Is something wrong?"

He snapped his attention back to her, and his confusion immediately melted once he met her beautiful brown eyes. "It's...it's nothing. I just thought I heard a noise somewhere else…"

A light giggle escaped her throat. "No big deal. It's an old house, we'll be fine."

She pulled the cord that could open the stairs down, and a row of steps slid down as the hatch popped open. They proceeded up into the dusty attic, and while Kevin had recovered from the initial whisper, sourceless thoughts, if she could even call them that, flooded Casey's mind.

_ Thith plathe ith too thcary… _

_ Why is this place always so dusty… _

_ Maybe she'll find what we did… _

_ How does she not know where she is… _

_ It won't be long until disaster strikes… _

"Stop!" she choked out to nobody in particular. Kevin froze behind her before slowly reaching a hand to soothingly brush her hair away from her neck.

"Are you okay?" he finally asked after a few seconds.

Snapped out of the utter silence that now plagued her mind, she nodded. "Yeah, I just...thought I saw a giant rat."

He chuckled, albeit half-heartedly in the face of the eerie attic, and herded her forward so he could join her at the top. While he couldn't hear any of the voices, he was no less unsettled by the complete lack of light and groped for his phone to turn the flashlight on. She did the same, and they shone their lights around the room to take in the mountains of antiques on all sides.

"Well, um," he tried to say, suddenly short of breath, "do you wanna look together, or…"

"We could get lost if we split up," she pointed out.

"Very true. Let's go."

For the next forty-five minutes, they scoured the piles of remnants from a bygone era, only finding a few cocktail dresses on a rusty iron rack. (Kevin suggested that she didn't need a long dress, but Casey felt uncomfortable with the idea of showing any skin at all.) Their search was nearly fruitless…

Until they reached the back corner.

A row of dressers, all with name labels in small aluminum frames on the front, were lined up evenly in a row. Kevin pulled one open, labeled  **Jade** , and found stacks of silk and sequined articles of clothing crammed in as tightly as possible. He notified Casey of his discovery, and as she set to work burrowing into the drawer, he scanned over the other labels.

_ Over here. _

Kevin's attention snapped around, his phone light following suit, and he stared peculiarly into the darkness. The back corner he now stood in, though visible from the main part of the attic, was also a gateway into the side room he now faced. He had heard the two terse words coming from about ten feet away, past several tall stacks of newspapers and in a small area decorated with a blood red rug. The glint of several candleholders on countertops and the frame of a standing mirror goaded him forth, but none of these things caught his attention.

No, it was the black gown draped over the mirror.

"Casey, I found something," he stated, his voice fading as he strode toward the object of their search. Its black velvet didn't reflect any light, but that was made up for the glittering white lace that formed its long sleeves and neckline. She turned to follow him, but found that she could not see him.  _ Did his flashlight die? _

"Kevin?"

_ "Yeah, I'm back here!" _

His voice seemed to echo from all sides as she drew closer to where she thought he had gone. She shut her eyes to rub at them, strained from searching in the dark, before being nearly blinded upon reopening them.

Kevin's light was aimed at a tall mirror, which reflected some of the light in her direction, and held up a gorgeous gown in his other hand. It was sleek and black with white, flowery lace that would cover her shoulders and arms. Though it would be form-fitting, she would be able to get an okay from Uncle John since it covered her skin.

"Oh my God, Kevin!" she responded, a glowing smile occupying her face. "It's perf-"

Out of nowhere, her breathing felt constricted, and she felt herself start to tremble. Kevin directed his flashlight at her petrified form and called her name in terror a couple of times. However, the redirection of the light source didn't completely conceal what she saw in the mirror.

_ That hand. I know that hand. _

She could see the scene unfold in the rays of her own flashlight. A black, clawed hand snaked out of the shadows opposite the mirror toward Kevin's shoulder. A head emerged from the darkness, lacking any features but visibly rotating. The featurelessness was broken by a smile of white, spiny teeth spreading maliciously across its face. The large creature composed of nothing but shadow towered over Kevin, and he was inching closer.

_ It's the- the- the- fr-from- _

After the three seconds of paralysis were over, her chest expanded with a sharp inhale and she stumbled a step forward.

"KEVIN! NO!"

She sprinted toward him and tackled him to the floor, and both their ears rang for five minutes upon impact. Kevin held the dress off the floor, while Casey coughed up dust into his chest.

"Casey, Casey, shhhhh, I got you, I got you," he cooed to the distraught girl on top of him. "What happened? What happened..."

She turned her neck to make eye contact allowing his shocked stare to meet her terrified gaze. However, she merely shook her head, her lip quivering as tears rolled down her pale cheeks.

_ "Well, that was dramatic." _

Casey's head swiveled to the direction of the calm feminine voice and angled her flashlight to see. In the corner where she had been rummaging, she saw her. A tall, slender woman, wearing a black petticoat dress that accentuated her hair, which was tied up in a bun, and contrasted with her paper white skin. 

_ The nurse. From my dreams. _

"It's you," she gasped out, leading the woman to smirk.

"Hello, my dear. If you could follow me out of this maze, please."

With that, the woman retreated into the main room of the attic, and Casey was hypersensitive to every sensation. She finally felt the pain in her ribs from her altered breathing and harsh landing on top of Kevin. The musty smell of the attic clogged her nostrils, and the dim light now seemed blinding again. However, all of this was intermingled with the soft gentle feeling of fingers running through her hair and rubbing circles over her neck.

"Casey," Kevin whispered, "talk to me. What's wrong?"

"Did you see them?"

He was concerned as he shuffled her off of him and sat up. "What do you mean?"

"The woman. In the black dress. Not…" She sniffled and wiped away more tears with her sleeve. "Not the dress you're holding. A big, fancy one from a long time ago. And the thing. The shadow thing, with the teeth. I…"

She started sobbing, and he brought her into a big hug. He had no idea what she was talking about, only recognizing her description of the second being from her sketchbook. He didn't want her to know what he thought, that the dark was messing with her mind, and so he just sat there with her and pressed small, comforting kisses over her hair.

_ Well? Do you want to know who we are or not? _

Her focus snapped back toward the corner, and without a second thought, she scrambled to her feet and followed the trail back out to the attic entrance. Kevin called after her to wait a few times before following suit. Upon reaching the stairs, he looked down, finding Casey standing stock still and staring out over the downstairs area.

"Casey?" he shouted down to her, voice filled with a fear he had never experienced as he shuffled down to her. She didn't move a muscle, and he laid the dress he was carrying down onto the steps behind him.

Casey couldn't believe her eyes. With the woman's hand rested on her shoulder, she could see so many people coming and going through the hall she now stood in, carrying on merrily in the kitchen and living room below. The house was full of life, though she knew from her vivid dreams that every single one of them was dead.

"My dear," the woman murmured, turning back to Casey and cupping her face with icy hands. "We have protected you in this house. We have provided you the beautiful dress you will now wear to your celebration. There is no need to live in fear of what each nightmare brings, for we have protected you from the One you saw in the attic."

"Wh-wha," she stumbled over the word. The sudden speech unnerved Kevin further, and he reached out to shake her awake. This did not work. "What is He called?"

"The Beast. The Beast of Satan Himself. He only exists to exacerbate malice within this house."

"I s-s-see...and what should I call you?"

The woman smiled at her, her surface-level kindness masking something that Casey did not have the soundness of mind to pinpoint at that moment. "I pray you should never have to call me anything, that you should find your soul bound to some other home before you die. But if you must know my name,

I am Miss Patricia."

Casey collapsed.

The first thing Casey noticed when she woke up was the splitting headache aggravated by the slam of her closing window. She was laying in her bed, flat on her back with only her neck elevated by pillows, with a towel and a bag of frozen vegetables rested on her forehead. Her dry eyes fluttered open, and while her every nerve was too drained to actually move for a better glimpse, she could see an empty desk chair removed slightly from its proper place, Kevin's body as he disappeared down the trellis, and her dress hanging on her closed bedroom door. A folded piece of notebook paper was nestled between her arm and her side, addressed to her in Kevin's handwriting. She dragged her arm just enough to cover it should Uncle John check in on her, and let sleep carry her away.


	16. Gasoline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me? Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me? Do the people whisper 'bout you on the train like me, saying that you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me?"
> 
> Particular TWs for scars and smut

**Good morning beautiful,**

**I know what it looks like, me not staying around until you woke up. I promise you, I didn't do anything bad. I heard the downstairs door slam, so I had to write this quick and get out of dodge. The attic stairs are closed up, no worries there. I took your temperature and you were 105, but as I watched the display, it plummeted down to normal, so I just gave you some water and ice and hung up your dress. You'll look great in it. I'll see you Monday.**

**K**

Casey had memorized the letter several times over that Sunday just from reading it to herself. They had maintained their normal text conversation, neither of them mentioning the clear episode she had experienced Saturday afternoon, even though it was all they could think about.

_ He'll never believe what I saw. _

She had repeated this mantra to herself all Monday morning, wanting desperately to explain but knowing she shouldn't plague him with her own psychological problems. If her uncle would have believed her self-diagnosis, she would have asked him to take her in for testing by a schizophrenia specialist. But he wouldn't, because in his mind, his niece was a drama queen and an attention whore, unwilling to believe her dad was gone and so was just trying to divert John's attention away from people who actually needed help. So she resolved to keep her mouth shut about the topic from then onward, and while her conversation with Kevin was drab, she was grateful for the return to normalcy it implied.

_ You have to tell him. _

"Hey!"

She looked up from her untouched lunch at the sound of Kevin's usual greeting and gave him a tired smile. Lacking the strength to even speak, she just maintained eye contact and nodded along as he spoke about the highlights of his first three classes. He wasn't content with this, though.

"Y'know," he started slowly, leaning closer to her and lending a charming drawl to his voice to catch her attention, "I just restocked my stash at home. If you want to come by for a smoke or two after school, Trinity Smith lives on the floor below so you can say you were at her place for a project."

A twinkle shone in Casey's otherwise glazed eyes before she snaked her arm toward him and took his hand. Though she knew taking a night off to get high would do no favors for her mental health following that fateful afternoon...she could think of no better evening than unwinding and telling him everything.

_ Everything.  _ The word echoed hauntingly.

"Okay. Just let me call John."

Casey had never seen this angle of Philadelphia in the evening. The pale orange in the sky burst through the gathering clouds and faded in some places to light pink. Every color had a new razor edge as her high slowly set in, and she was at peace. Kevin's arm was slung over her shoulders, pressing her into his side as the couple smoked and watched the bustle in the streets below. Though Uncle John had been wary about allowing her to come, knowing his most dangerous patient was in the same building, she couldn't have imagined turning this down.

"So," Kevin began, "are you sure you're doing alright so far?"

"Yeah. I think I'll just have the one, anyway."

"Alright." An extended pause, and then, "I'm worried about you."

She threw her head back to blow some smoke up into the air and simply asked, "Why?"

"What did you see on Saturday?"

She shook her head. "Something from my dreams. Maybe a psychotic hallucination, I don't know."

"Then are you sure you should-"

"Yes, I'm sure!" she snapped, meeting his eyes before softening her rabid features. She leaned in, kissed him, and returned her attention to the skyline. "I'm sorry. That was really rude and-"

"I get it."

Not daring to meet his gaze again, she just asked a simple "hm?"

"I should have known," he continued, chuckling and shaking his head, "I should have known there was a reason I was so interested in you. You're a mental case, like I am."

_ If only you knew just how alike we were. _

"I'm not going to deny that I heard creepy shit in that attic that sounded like whispers. And you don't have to tell me what you saw. But I'm being honest. If you have something going on, you're the same beautiful girl no matter what. If anything…it makes you even more special to me. That I found someone who understands."

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, but slowly pulled away when he tasted salty tears. A gentle hand brushed the hair out of her face and guided her neck to turn so she could look at him. Her eyes were redder than they should have been for how much she had smoked so far, and teardrops had left trails down her face. 

That was when she lunged in for a hug and started sobbing. Though knocked off balance at first, Kevin brought his arms around her, and she sobbed into his shoulder as he stared stoically over the neighborhood. She murmured a barrage of apologies into his jacket, but he shook his head and held her tighter.

Finally, she whispered, "Can we go inside?"

"Of course."

Without letting her go, he backed into the small studio apartment and closed the door. She finally broke from the embrace after a few minutes, only to start crying again, and he instructed her to take a seat on his makeshift couch. He eventually took a seat beside her and sat in silence waiting for her to open up. This yielded nothing, so after a short while, he took initiative.

"Look, I'm sorry I called you-"

"It's fine," she responded quietly, her voice dry from crying. "I probably am one. But...this isn't about that."

He rested a hand on her shoulder and nodded along, stone-faced but trying to exude warmth when the only person in the world he truly cared about was falling apart at the seams. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She heaved a deep sigh. "About Saturday? Not really. I know what I saw, and...you wouldn't understand."

He cut her off. "No, I won't. But I'll try."

Casey gave him a melancholic smile. "And I know you will. You always go out of your way for me and me only, and...it's so wonderful. But even though I know it, I don't necessarily understand it, either. And that's not what's wrong either."

Kevin was confused, but he kept his mouth shut and cupped her jaw in his hands, wanting to kiss her and just take all the pain away but needing to hear her. "Please. Tell me. I won't judge you, I'm in no position to."

She waited a moment more, allowing the rest of the walls she had built so solidly around the most vulnerable part of her soul to crumble, and finally mustered the breath to speak. "You said you were drawn to me because we're the same. And we are. But...not for the reason you said."

Kevin didn't know how to feel, didn't know what she meant. A dark suspicion grew in the pit of his stomach, but she wasn't finished.

"It will be easier if I just show you."

She pulled away from him and took a few deep breaths, every cell in her brain screaming at her to stop, but she didn't care. This was something he had to know, and she wanted him to see the evidence.

First, she unbuttoned and slid off her flannel, letting it fall to the floor. Kevin watched intently, concerned as to what she was doing, but she didn't have time to pause and ask if he was alright. She was too busy unzipping her hoodie and letting it slide to the floor, landing with a quiet thump on the flannel. Finally, he grasped her upper arm and stared into her eyes in wonder.

"Please," he said. "Don't feel like you owe me anything. I know what that feeling's like, and I-"

She shut him up with a firm, passionate kiss, hands pressed firmly on the sides of his face. Upon pulling away, she answered, "This isn't about that. It really, truly isn't. And...I need you to promise me one thing before I show you."

"Anything."

"You won't get angry."

With his eyes sadder than she had ever seen him, he whispered, "I won't get angry at you."

A sad smile spread over her face as a few more tears fell. "I know. And I didn't mean at me."

She finally leaned back and slid her hands down to where her long-sleeve shirt, her last line of defense, met the waist of her jeans. And, with a cautious fluidity, she stripped off that layer as well.

Kevin couldn't believe his eyes. Scattered all over her pale white skin were scars, burns, and faded bruises. Several small circles suggested that someone had put out their cigarettes on her shoulders and arms. Some scars were long, faded, and deep, like one on her clavicle; others made tic-tac-toe boards across her stomach. Painfully familiar lines ran in organized rows up her forearms, and an array of faded bruises littered everywhere in between.

Casey just sat there, arms spread so he could see all of it, and let him look. She had more on her legs, but those wouldn't be necessary to get her point across. 

"Can- can, um…"

"Yes, you can touch them."

Trembling more than she had ever seen him, he reached out both of his shaky hands and placed them on her shoulders. His hands ran down her arms, thumb carefully caressing each mark along the way, before he retracted his hands and cautiously brushed a fingertip against her bare waist.

_ You are the same. But at what cost? Your beauty being marred by… _

"Who did this to you?"

Her vision had blurred with tears again, but when she looked at him, she could see the storm surging in his eyes. "A lot of them...I did myself."

"I know." He rested a hand on the particularly nasty one over her collarbone. "But who made you put them there? And who did the rest?"

Her lip quivering as she stifled sobs yet again, she replied, "Kevin, please. If I tell you, this won't end well for either of us. We can't afford to challenge him."

_ Him. _

_ HIM. _

Kevin jolted up from the couch and stormed toward the door. Casey yelped out "wait!" and pursued him, grabbing his forearm to pull him back.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted that piece of shit!" he roared. "Casey, please, let me go!"

"But Kevin, you promised!"

"Yeah, and for what? The knowledge that you have to go back home to a fucking abuser? Like hell I'll let that happen!"

"It's not like I have a choice!" she cried, tugging him closer to her. "You think I haven't thought about this? Yeah, I'm eighteen and can leave if I want. But I can't support myself, and I don't have a dollar to my name. I need to finish high school, and if I leave while I'm still a student, he will find me. If I try to live with you, and I knew you would suggest that, he would find me and make shit up to get you in trouble. And if you walk out that door...I can't help you."

He heaved a large sigh and took her wrists in his hands. "I'm not asking you to. But he hurt you. And he's going to fucking pay."

Sensing her options dwindling by the second, she tugged him back once more and pressed her lips firmly to his. Her hands slid up his arms and gripped his shoulders. He tried to pull away, but his resolve weakened as she bit his bottom lip and slid her tongue into his mouth. His skin burnt bright red from the rage boiling in his veins and the passion he tried to reciprocate. Her head was spinning as it had two days ago, but she allowed it to spiral. This time, she was in control, and she had to fight with everything in her to keep him there.

"Casey," he groaned as he briefly broke away, "please. I won't get hurt. I swear."

"I know." Her mouth found his again to punctuate her statement. "But if you walk out that door, you'll break my heart."

In the recesses of her dark eyes, he saw something he had never witnessed in the many emotions that flickered across her face when her typical defenses were up. While she was the only person alive he cared about, she was also the only human being with the capacity to terrify him. Because as she stared him down **,** daring him to walk out the front door, the pieces fell into place.

Instead of answering, he kissed her again with renewed passion, and they quickly resumed the intimacy they had struck before his attempt at resistance. Instead of the original rollercoaster that Casey had found herself at the peak of prior to their first kiss, her mind was at a much higher precipice, strapped into the car and anticipating this new free fall.

Except this time, Kevin was in the seat right next to her. And he was the one rocking the car loose.

As he slid his jacket off his shoulders, he felt his own defensive walls toppling one by one. The jacket, an inheritance from his father and his first line against the prying eyes that always searched for the main scarring on his arms, fell carelessly to the floor. She knew exactly where this was headed, and, contrary to her own instincts, she pulled him even tighter and backed toward the bed.

"Wait," he mumbled, gazing down at her as they laid in the center of the bed. Her body was so small beneath him, he was so afraid of putting her through any more pain.

She turned her head away, regretting what she had dragged him into and starting to tear up at her grave error. "Look, I should have asked, I'm sorry-"

"Look at me."

After slight hesitation, she obeyed and was met with a wondrous sight. His cerulean eyes, though so distinct in their hue, mirrored her own in the emotions they conveyed. She felt at peace, and she was only drawn in further.

"I swear, I just don't want you to get hurt," he pleaded. "It'll only happen if you really want it to."

She pulled his face toward hers again, stopping just half an inch shy of meeting his lips, and whispered,

"Yes."

Kevin pressed a kiss to her lips before venturing down Casey's jaw and finding her neck. He lightly bit and sucked the sensitive skin, undid the clasps on her bra and tossed it away, while her hands snaked down his back to tug the bottom of his T-shirt. The fabric slid up his skin, and he finished a light hickey in the crook between her neck and shoulder before assisting in removing the article of clothing, which was hastily tossed to the floor. 

As he continued to kiss and suck his way down her body, giving extra care to run his tongue gently over every scar, she became aware of the fact that he was undoing her jeans. She felt the denim slide down her legs, exposing the particularly rough marks that adorned her thighs to the air.

He wanted to cry for her, knowing the pain this kindred spirit had gone through, but as he threw the pants to the floor, he knew he had to show them the respect they deserved. He resumed his trail of kisses, this time moving up from her knee. His right hand grabbed her breast and kneaded her flesh, rubbing his thumb over her nipple with pinpoint precision. Her breathing was shallowing, and she threw her head back to moan. Her own right hand was bunched in the quilt, while her left was threaded through his hair, slowly pulling him closer. 

His left hand, which had massaged its way up the other leg, reached the bone of her hip and gave the skin a tight squeeze. He hooked his fingers and slowly dragged his claws, careful to rub instead of scratch, back down the side of her leg, taking the waistband of her panties with it. He removed his other hand from her breast and used it to finish pulling off the garment, and they ultimately joined the growing pile on the floor before he gripped her pelvic bones once again and pulled her closer to go down on her.

She sharply gasped when she felt his tongue lick a long stripe up her folds, and as his mouth moved against her, she moved her hands to his bare shoulders and felt around, massaging as he worked. The entirety of the section of his back she could reach felt like it was made of scar tissue, and every moan had a tinge of empathy for him at its outer edges.

When she came, he didn't stop. He didn't stop the second time, either. Finally, with her legs quaking and her breaths rasping from crying out in pleasure, he delivered a third orgasm, and her nerves were fried. He trailed kisses up her stomach, over her breasts, and beneath her ears, while her hands ran down the rest of his back, kneading at the muscles and drawing unintentionally wavy lines over his scars.

"We can stop," he whispered, biting at her earlobe. But her gentle strokes over his back froze at this, and soon, she was shifting her hands around, unzipping his fly, and murmuring,

"Please don't."


	17. The Good, The Bad, And The Dirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If you wanna start a fight, you better throw the first punch. Make it a good one."
> 
> Particular TW for drug dealing

**_Knocknocknock!_ **

The noise from his front door jarred Kevin awake, and he reached out to check his phone for the time.  _ Seven. Still an hour before she has to leave. _

**_Knocknocknock!_ **

_ She doesn't have to. I can support us. _

Untangling Casey's arms from his torso, he filled the space with a spare pillow from his side of the bed and pulled the quilt higher over her exposed back. Reaching for his boxers from the disarrayed clothing on the floor, he put them on, grabbed a pocket knife from the drawer of his nightstand, and approached the door. Finally, with a glance back to ensure Casey was sleeping and the door chain firmly on its track, he cracked the door open and glowered at the person outside.

"It's been a week," the scrawny older man outside croaked. "I'm here for my weekly order."

"Busy right now. Come back in an hour." He almost slammed the door until the man spoke again.

"Don't make me get the boys downstairs."

_ The boys downstairs.  _ Since there were a lot of dealers in that particular building, the tenants appointed two de facto bouncers to ensure that nobody got stiffed or caught.

Kevin raised his hands in surrender. "Give me a couple minutes, and we can talk this through."

He closed the door so only a ribbon of fluorescent light from the hallway could peer through. His jeans were put on first, then his wrinkled T-shirt, his jacket, and a pair of slippers. Finally, he undid the chain, slipped through the door and pulled it shut.

Which, in turn, jarred the young woman in his bed awake.

Casey's eyes flew open at the cracking noise of the wood frame beneath heavy metal locks. She looked down at the pillow her arms were wrapped around before abruptly sitting up. Her gaze was thrown all over the room as she hugged the quilt tight to her cold skin. His clothes were gone from the pile on the floor, but otherwise, the room was exactly how they left it prior to their tryst.

And, in the hallway, she could hear a low dispute between two male voices.

She gently stepped out of bed, collecting her clothing and redressing herself. At first, she started to stride over to the couch to collect her various shirts. But, a particular phrase spoken in Kevin's voice drew her attention to the door.

"If you call her that again, your skull's getting ground into the fucking pavement." 

Cautiously, she crept to the door and pressed an ear to the crack, where she was greeted by a deeper voice, not Kevin's, but of an adult male.

"...all I'm saying is, there's a goddamn reason we got rules around here, and if you're throwing them out over your broad, then the boys downstairs-"

"Fuck the goddamn boys downstairs! You might as well say the boys in blue for all the shit I give! Their only job is to settle product quantity disputes, not to be your backup when you decide to be a Karen over some fucking edibles!"

_ Edibles? _

Casey flinched back from the door as the men continued to argue outside. She whipped her head around to view every corner of the room, deeply troubled by the implication of what she had heard outside.  _ No no, he just has a bigger stash than he's letting on...right? _

She scurried around the room, opening and closing every cabinet door and desk drawer, and found absolutely nothing. That's when she had the brilliant idea of going outside to just ask what was going on. Hurrying toward the makeshift sofa, she bent down to retrieve her long-sleeve…

And noticed the imprints of suitcase clasps rising through the blanket covering.

And her curiosity got the best of her.

Kicking the other shirts out of the way after putting the base layer on, she slowly removed the various cushions, stacking them neatly in a pile, before dragging off the giant blanket. Beneath the facade was a large black chest, far too new and sleek compared to the rest of the room to be his own furniture.

_ This is wrong this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong- _

**_Chnk!_ **

She unlocked the clasps and opened the lid.

The first thing she noticed about the inside of the chest was that it was refrigerated. The second thing she noticed was the potent smell that wafted out and made her eyes water. Nearly coughing up a lung, she reeled back and landed on the floor with a hard thud. Her hands were frantically waving the new smell away from her nose, and she waited a few minutes until she could breathe again.

_ That's a lot of weed. And it's not the only thing in there. _

Pulling the front of her shirt up over her nose, she crept up to catch a better glimpse of the inside. Stacked in neat rows were bags of weed, pouches containing blunts, and covered pans of desserts she assumed were the edibles in question. This excluded the boxes off to the side, which were partially opened on top and read  **Spice** in large black letters, which was what she assumed caused her to gag so much. 

She probably wouldn't have minded this discovery so much if Kevin hadn't been in a very angry conversation outside with someone who seemed to want in on it. However, as she shoved a large bag of the supply out of the way, what she saw made her chest tighten.

_ Is that...a cash box? _

Casey reached down for the metal object and slowly pulled it out, carefully balancing it on the corner of the chest. She whipped her head around to look at the door, but Kevin had not returned yet. So, she used her new vantage point to scan the room until a glint of metal on the underside of a cabinet caught her eye. She tiptoed over to retrieve the key from where it was taped to the particle board bottom and quietly hustled back, anxious to confirm her creeping suspicion.

And the contents of the box did exactly that.

Two bundles of cash sat inside, both labeled, one much larger than the other, though the smaller was still of a decent size.

The smaller bundle was labeled  **Keep** .

**_Chkchk-clnk-creeaaak!_ **

Casey didn't dare move. She didn't attempt to cover up that she had been searching, she didn't pivot to face him. She remained squatted, still as a deer in the headlights with an expression to match, despite aiming it at her most recent discovery. Her hands were wrapped white-knuckled around the side edges of the box, and she was grateful that at least she didn't look like she was stealing from him.

Kevin's heart dropped at the sight.  _ She knows. God dammit, why did I hide it from her? What's she gonna say? _

"...Casey?"

Three deep breaths, a gradual return of her face to laser-focused neutrality, and then, "Who was the man outside?"

_ She doesn't need to get tangled up with that asshole.  _ "Um," he choked out before clearing his throat and returning his voice to its typical evenness, "why were you going through my stuff?"

Silence enveloped the room for a moment as a bath of ice washed through Casey's veins. Finally, she slowly stood up, turned to him, and answered, "Because I wanted to know who the man outside was."

_ Don't lie to her. Please, for the love of God, don't lie to her you piece of shit. _

Kevin hated himself for maintaining the facade, especially seeing her beautiful form drift toward him from across the room, but he felt personally obligated to keep her at a distance. "...A neighbor from down the hall. I need to return his toolbox, I used it to fix my sink three weeks ago and he's pissed-"

"Kevin." Her hands firmly grasped his biceps, and she pulled him closer as her voice dropped to low, frightened solemnity. "Don't lie to me. Please."

He kept his mouth shut, and her hands dropped to her sides as she maintained stern eye contact. "How long?"

"What?"

"How long have you been dealing?"

A deep inhale, and then, "Second day going to school here."

_ I didn't bring all of it. Wish I could get hooked up with someone with that big of a supply. Somebody with connections in the city... _

_ I made a lot of extra money from the other tenants in my building. Seems like everyone needs a jack of all trades. _

"So...Claire's party…?"

He nodded.

"And...the 'jack of all trades?'"

His face flushed as he maintained eye contact, desperate to not betray anything else within him. "Please don't be mad."

"I'm not." She bit her quivering lip as tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn't budge an inch. "Why didn't you tell me, though?"

The silence returned with a vengeance. His usual smoke and mirrors were cleared and shattered, and his thoughts went blank. Meanwhile, hers spiraled deeper as those two occasions returned to memory.

"So...connections in the city?"

Nothing.

"Kevin, talk to me."

Still nothing, though his facial muscles started to twitch. And she couldn't take it anymore.

"Kevin!" she cried out to him, a tear rolling down her cheek. "Please, tell me what's wrong!"

"It's none of your goddamn business," he muttered with venom in his voice before brushing past her to return all of his paraphernalia to its proper arrangement.

"Kevin, please, if you're in trouble- with anybody from your old life-"

"Then that's my own fucking problem!" he spat out, punctuating it with the slam of the chest lid. He strode around her and faced her once again, this time shooting daggers as the hurricane in his piercing eyes erupted. "And you have no place in the middle of that shit, do you understand?"

_ You have no place talking to me like that, young lady. Do you understand me? _

That phrase was all she heard spill out of his mouth, though she heard it in a voice that haunted her dreams. And her composure finally caved.

"You know what? Yeah. I do understand. But in case you haven't realized, you're dragging me into your little operation by using your cut of the deal to pay for everything and by even considering offering me a home here. But guess what? You don't have a place in the middle of that shit, either."

His breathing grew heavier as his anger built. "What I do or don't get involved in is my own business."

She wasn't about to be intimidated by the man she had wrapped around her finger less than half an hour ago. "Actually, as your friend and your psychiatrist's receptionist, it's mine as well. Because I know that you're going to get your ass either killed or thrown in prison, and I really don't want to see either of those."

_ Psychiatrist card, huh? Fine, I'll play it your way.  _ "The same fucking psychiatrist that you have to sneak around and hide from to have a shred of a normal life? You expect me to give a fuck about whatever rehab bullshit he thinks is best for me?"

"Yes! I know!" she snapped. "But even if he's absolute garbage, that doesn't change the fact that we, by court order, are supposed to help you help yourself, and I can clearly see that your effort at doing so has been just fucking peachy!"

"I'm keeping under the damn radar!" He was now yelling, but despite her adverse experience with a man yelling at her, it only poured kerosene on the flames. "Yeah, I might have a piece of shit customer every now and again who tries to start something, but I run a tight ship!"

"Yeah, and who supplies your 'tight ship,' huh? All it takes is trusting the wrong people, and then the whole vessel goes under."

He saw a brief layer of ice veil the flames in her darkened eyes, but it was all the indication he needed. "And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" 

"It means that I don't understand why the everloving hell you don't try to help yourself and think it's okay to drag the people who care about you into it without a heads up!" She didn't care about keeping it under wraps from the neighbors; she needed to shout in return to keep herself from being swallowed up by the chaos in her mind and in his iron glare. "It means that you can't play by the rules you used to know anymore! You have a second chance at this, and I want to help you get it right, but God dammit, Kevin. If you want me to trust you, then I need you to trust me back!"

He could no longer see the red veil over his vision, but was now fully aware of her red face, flushed from fighting and crying. And he froze. He knew that he had royally fucked up, but his mind, cursing himself for falling into this trap with the one person he vowed to not hurt, was blank yet again. Not with rage, but with numbness.

Casey rubbed her eyes with her sleeve, but she was still trembling with anger. "And you know what?" She glanced at the clock on the microwave, saw that it was seven thirty, and stepped back to retrieve her bag and overshirts. "It's fine if you don't."

_ Please. No.  _ "Casey, wait-"

"Don't call me," she whispered raspily, "don't text me, and don't act like we're anything more than friends, because I guess we were barely that at best."

All at once, the bliss he had known with her just a while before toppled down to the floor from atop its house of cards and shattered into a million pieces. As she opened the door to the fire escape, tears washed down his face, and he reached out to stop her. "Casey! Please don't go! I-"

**_Slam!_ **

She was gone to the night, and Kevin blacked out, feeling utter despair at his own actions for the first time.


	18. Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We used to kick it. She was hot for a minute, she was down, down, down, always down, down, down."
> 
> Particular TW for scars

Casey woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. She had managed to pass off her distraught state the prior night as getting too into her "project," a short skit that actually didn't exist and would never be performed, with Trinity, but the lies would have to continue as she claimed a horrible night's sleep. It wasn't completely wrong; she had been plagued by nightmares. Except this time, instead of visits from the creature in the attic or the woman who called herself Miss Patricia, she could only see the argument on repeat, the emotions and noise more intense upon each iteration. But all she could afford to do was pop an aspirin and soldier on.

He was there when she arrived, standing sentry in his usual spot. But this time, she walked right past, not listening for her uncle's departure, not caring to entertain their usual routine for old time's sake. Unfortunately, Claire's clique was already gathered in front of both their lockers.

She didn't have to clear her throat for them to scatter, because when she came into view, Claire gasped and rushed to her, leading the rest of them to stand back. Casey tried her hardest to ignore her locker neighbor's doting voice, but she couldn't maintain her aloofness for long.

"Casey, sis, what happened? You look miserable!"

She shook her head and cowered into her locker, flinging it open and haphazardly shoving books in. "It's really nothing, just-"

"Casey?"

The voice definitely wasn't Claire's, and she could see his figure in the corner of her eye. On that cue, her name spoken with that rough, broken voice, asking that she let him in, a couple of tears rolled down her cheeks. Claire's attention shifted between them several times before she rounded the crying girl and stood in front of her as a wall, arms crossed.

"She doesn't want to talk to you right now," she stated firmly, glaring up at him. "Please leave her alone."

The popular girl's whiteknighting annoyed him, and he stepped forward to shuffle around her. "This doesn't concern you, stay out of it."

It was Marcia who next stepped forward to close the gap and prevent him from reaching Casey. "She doesn't want to talk to you right now," she echoed her leader, "so please leave her alone.”

Kevin felt his grip on his temper start to falter, and he looked at the rest of the girls. They all stood back in terror, but Claire and Marcia were unerring in their human wall while Casey stood stock still at her locker behind them. Finally, he raised his hands in surrender, and turned around before they could see the dams break. As he strode away, he pulled his jacket tighter around him and clasped his hands on the back of his head, all of which Casey saw as she ventured to twist her neck toward Claire.

Once her defenders were sure he had left, they turned around and placed gentle hands on Casey's shoulders, rubbing circles with their thumbs in a manner that felt blasphemous to the recipient of the kind gesture due to her knowledge that they weren't the person she wanted to comfort her. But they were right; he shouldn't be talking to her, not until he figures out whether he wants to reciprocate her trust and not until she can go back to him without feeling like a ticking time bomb.

"Casey, honey," Marcia whispered, which caused the rest of the heartbroken girl's composure to break. Her bag dropped to the floor, and she would have collapsed if Claire hadn't caught her. The duo slung the bag on the ledge above the rows of metal lockers, shut the door, and guided her to a bench nearby. The rest of the group scattered to the four winds, leaving Casey and her unlikely defenders.

Finally, with a hand placed firmly on the young woman's shoulder, Claire asked, "What happened?"

Casey ran a hand through her hair, hesitated, then answered, "We got into a fight last night."

A red flag popped up in Marcia's head. "He didn't...hurt you, did he?"

She shook her head. "No, but...we both said a lot, and…" _And I can't take it back. And I meant most of it, too._

The girls hugged her closely, not noticing her flinch under the unusual contact, and Casey berated herself for what she thought had been an overreaction.

"Hey."

The address came from Claire, and Casey rubbed her eyes with her sleeve before turning to look at her.

"You're still welcome with us for prom, okay? And during school, for that matter. We might not agree on stuff or be into the same things, but you don't have to deal with this alone."

She nodded. "Thank you, but...could you just give me some breathing room right now?"

Claire smiled at her, grasped Marcia's hand, and strolled away to find the rest of their group. Meanwhile, Casey considered the kind offer.

 _It doesn't matter how caring Claire and Marcia are,_ she told herself. _You saw how the others didn't want to be seen with you. And even so, there's some people you just can't relate to._

She sat alone in her usual seat at lunch, preferring the silence as she ate. But she wasn't alone for long, as she darted a glance up to the shadow moving across the round table from her. 

Kevin locked eyes with her, face sullenly neutral, as he set down his tray and pulled out the chair. Finally, he sat down and diverted his attention to his lunch. Casey didn't return to her own, didn't stop staring at him, until he sternly met her indignant gaze once again.

"I don't give a damn if we're fighting or not," he said, "I figured you wouldn't want to sit alone."

The only contact the pair had for the next couple of weeks was their silent lunches across from each other, the occasional request for a pencil, and his weekly check-in at the office. His next appointment was scheduled for the following Sunday morning to accommodate for prom the day before, which set Uncle John's teeth on edge as he drove Casey toward the suburb where Claire lived that afternoon.

"You know Kevin's going to be there, right?"

She heaved a sigh at the reminder. "Yeah, but so is half of the senior class, including Claire and Marcia. I'll be fine."

He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but the answer seemed to appease him. Finally, the truck pulled up at the end of Claire's driveway, and he shifted into park.

"Hey."

_Hey. Does he ever get sick of acting like this shit is no big deal?_

She turned to meet his eyes, wearing as demure of an expression as possible. "Yes?"

"I've still got an appointment tomorrow at ten. Are you good to take the cab by yourself?"

"Mhm. What time?"

"Be home by noon. Have a good time, Casey-bear."

She nodded before grabbing her overnight bag from the floor and lifting the hanger that held her dress. Shoving through the door, she strode out onto the curb and made her way up to the house.

"Claire!" the hostess's father called into the house from his seat on the porch. "Another of your friends is here!" He briefly looked up at her from his book. "You can just head inside, kiddo."

Casey nodded awkwardly and stepped in through the screen door. As she crossed the foyer, which was now visible compared to her last visit here, Claire came barrelling down the stairs.

"Heya!" she greeted enthusiastically. "Ooh, is this the dress you found antique hunting? It looks gorgeous!"

"Oh, um...thanks!"

Claire placed a hand on Casey's upper back and guided her up the stairs. "Home base is up here. We're doing hair right now, so while you wait, I can raid my mom's closet for some shoes…"

The rest of Claire's chat blurred with the whirlwind she found herself thrust into. Marcia took one look at the dress and started on the wash necessary for an updo. Meanwhile, another girl started on her nails, claiming they would need every second they could get to dry. Casey entirely tuned out the gossip of their makeshift salon, silently praying she would choke to death on the ungodly amount of hairspray clouding around her so she wouldn't have to go through with this.

Finally, her stylists let go of her and spun her around to look at Claire, who gushed at the makeover while holding up two pairs of open-toed heels that were only distinguishable by their colors. Casey, a deer caught in the headlights, gestured vaguely toward the black pair, which was set neatly by her hanging dress as Claire started to attend to the rest of the group.

When four o'clock rolled around, the plates of snacks and glasses of water were replaced with makeup kits. Casey, lacking a zipper on her dress, was instructed to change before they started so as not to ruin whatever look their crew's resident makeup artist planned. She was constantly reassured that she could change in the back corner, that it was no big deal, but she fled to the bathroom across the hall with her dress and shoes.

Instant regret at not changing before Marcia had done her hair set in as she looked into the mirror, but that was only the surface of the maelstrom of negativity within her. As she stripped down to her undergarments, she stared into the mirror and saw every one of her scars displayed to her. All at once, she felt the chasm between herself and her giddy classmates in the next room widen, despite the bridge she felt like she had built since her arrival. They treated her no differently, at least not to her face, but she wondered how much that would change if they saw what she saw now. 

And then there was the matter of actually arriving at the prom and having to face him. She didn't want to think of how beautiful he thought every last mark on her skin was, how he had willingly worshipped every one of them, and how he would see her in the dress that they basically walked through Hell to find and decide that he had been right in telling her how great it would look on her as he had written in his parting note the day they found it. Yet, she was essentially cornered, dragged into attending the event with a group of girls she wasn't sure entirely liked her instead of the only person she truly wanted to accompany her that evening.

"Casey! You alright in there?"

She was snapped out of her thoughts and turned to the door. "Yeah, just…" She grabbed the dress from the hanger and started to compress the bottom so she could slide it on. "...just trying to put it on over my hair!"

With her head in the hole, her arms in the sleeves, and her hands smoothing out the dress's sleek black body, she looked her reflection firmly in the eyes. _You look gorgeous, God dammit, and you're going to show up and show him that you don't need him to have fun._

Casey slowly strolled back across the hall, attempting not to break an ankle in her heels, and everyone squealed in excitement at her look. Claire guided her to an open makeup chair and set to work, and the gossip continued as usual.

"So, Casey!" a ginger girl with a low-cut emerald dress piped up as Casey had her eyeshadow done. "You and Kev-"

Marcia clapped a hand over the girl's mouth, and Claire turned to glare at her. After a stifling layer of tension spread through the room, the hostess finally chided, "Rule one of prom night: NOBODY says the K word. Are we clear?"

The initial offender rolled her eyes and nodded, but Casey only blushed at the predicament. Claire, noticing the discomfort of the canvas for her makeup, murmured encouragement as she worked.

"You," she started, "are going to look so good that you could probably have any guy in that conference center, yeah? He's gonna wish he didn't mess with you, because you're a fucking goddess."

"Yeah!" a girl with bleached hair wearing a glittering silver gown added. "Boys are stupid anyway, they don't know what they missed until she's gone and found someone better for her!"

"Exactly," Claire continued, finishing Casey's eyeliner. "And if you find someone new, the back door's unlocked, okay?"

Though noticeably flustered by the last statement, Casey felt her spirits rise. She was strong, she was in control, and she was going to paint the town red with people who thought the persona she put on was worthy of their attention.

A shout came from downstairs. "Girls! Limo's here! Time for pictures!"

With the finishing touches put on her lipstick, Casey grabbed her phone and trailed everyone else downstairs. The picture session breezed by, though she was slightly self-conscious at being the only person with sleeves, but it didn't matter in the end, because they were all soon engrossed in a karaoke session en route to the venue.

When they arrived, Claire made exactly two cash payments: one to Casey so she wouldn't have to use her cab fare for the next day "if that night went well" ( _Ugh,_ Casey thought. _Practice some subtlety.),_ and the other to a girl outside of their posse that was seated at their dinner table to take Casey's old placement. Their group continued to chat, took more pictures in front of the fountains outside, and finally entered the dance hall.

Casey hadn't felt so shallowly exhilarated since the party, and she noticed the common theme. But as more people flooded into the hall and surrounded the group of trendsetters, she gave herself over to the music, too sober to truly enjoy it but too drunk on the idea of her own power in doing so to protest as she was enveloped by the mosh pit.


	19. Dinner And Diatribes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'd suffer Hell if you'd tell me what you'd do to me tonight."
> 
> Particular TW for graphic smut

Casey's feet were sore and her head ached after an hour of dancing so close to the speakers. She had gotten used to following Claire's lead with most of the dances as well as keeping to herself and warding off the perverts who tried to grind against her for the rest of them. She was parched, and if she didn't get to the punch fountain soon, she would likely pass out.

Leaning against the table as she got a drink, she scanned the thrashing crowd. Only the who's who of her class were occupying the cluster she just escaped, and the fringe groups throughout, like planets orbiting a scorching sun, were all devoid of one face. Sighing, she strolled out into the grand dining room to resume her seat.

That was when she saw his back as he looked out the windows over the back garden.

And, against her own better judgement, she carefully strode up to him.

They stood in silence, both admiring the beauty of the blooming flowers outside, both of their heads held high, both of them maintaining a frigid distance. And Kevin couldn't bear the silence.

"Did you get bored of your new friends?"

Casey scoffed. "I'd hardly call them my friends. Besides…" She cleared her throat and peered at him from the corner of her eye. "I figured you wouldn't want to stand alone."

His face flushed beet red as she turned his own words around on him.  _ She has a way of doing that. And it's kind of… _

_...hot. _

"How have you been?" he asked, wanting to thaw the ice as he shifted his weight and shuffled an inch closer. "Any new drawings?"

"No," she replied as evenly as possible. "Not really anything noteworthy enough to draw, I guess."

"Makes sense," he continued, shifting ever closer, "but I'm sure you're committing this to memory. I can see the wheels turning."

Between her new awareness of his movement and the slight pain that he could still see right through her, she laughed lightly while maintaining her regal posture. "Yeah. I'll have to find the right colored pencils, though."

He turned to face her and leaned on his elbow against the glass, smirking at her. "I'm sure you will. You'll probably enchant the damn things too, to match this beautiful sight."

She snorted as she laughed, bringing a hand in front of her mouth and apologizing. However, she went wide-eyed as she realized what exactly his view at the moment was, and her face flushed beneath the layers of makeup. 

_ He won't get the best of you. You're in control.  _ "Well," she responded, turning to face him, keeping her voice just warm enough to not deter him and just cold enough to ensure he didn't think that all was forgiven, "it's not like I can just say a spell and have it work. I'd need help to make the magic happen."

"Oh really?" He took a strong step forward and now stared through her eyes, locking on to her meaning and intending to call her bluff. "You going to ask the demons in your attic, or do you have someone else in mind?"

Casey found herself at a fork in the road. She realized that she had fallen back into his trap, but did she want to fall in deeper, or would she stand her ground? The question made her freeze in place, and she failed to answer as she got lost in his sparkling eyes.

His grin only widened at her inner turmoil.  _ She doesn't want me back. But she wants me now.  _

He leaned in and, in a deep, breathy tone, whispered,

"Do you want to get out of here?"

_ God, yes. _ "That depends," she murmured in return.

"Do you trust me?"

Kevin winced slightly, remembering the argument that had torn them apart. However, it was immediately followed by their first stolen moment in the abandoned hallway at school. How they had been in chaos then, but still knew what they wanted. He wasn't sure if either of them wanted what was about to happen, at least not in the long run, but the heat that passed between them was too poignant for him to ignore her invitation.

"Of course."

A wicked grin spread over her face. Casey hadn't felt intimidated by him on that fateful evening, but she wanted a redux. One where she was in charge. She set her half-empty punch cup on a nearby unoccupied table, gave him as seductive of a look as she could muster, and strolled toward the exit. He trailed her, moving to rest a guiding hand on the small of her back but finding it caught swiftly by her own. She led him, hand-in-hand, out to the nearby taxi stop, and waved down a driver, whom Kevin promptly gave the address of his building to once they were settled inside.

They entered through the front entrance, her hand resting on the back of his shoulder as he led the way, urged on by her as he stiffened in his pants at her sudden display of dominance. Her ankles ached as they climbed the steps, but she didn't dare stop. If she stopped, she would have changed her mind entirely.

He messed with his keys at the apartment door, finally unlocked the door, and stepped through first to hold the door for her. She obliged and, as he closed the door, made her move. When the door clicked shut, she reached around him and threaded his necktie through her fingers. Fluidly, gracefully, she tightly clutched the accessory and used it to spin him around until their faces were a hair's width apart.

"Tell me when to stop, okay?" she whispered.

"Don't bet on it."

Casey smirked at the sly response and pulled him in to close the gap between their lips. It wasn't long until their tongues found each other, and she backed him into the door, completely giving herself over to the passion of the moment as their bodies pressed together. His hands found her ass and kneaded through the fabric of her dress, but she wasn't content with just the pressure. She needed to  _ feel  _ him. 

Her hands found his chest and slid down, pressing into his pelvis before moving to her own dress and starting to hike the skirt up. He assisted her in lifting it and finished removing it from her as she held her arms over her head.

Though the heels were uncomfortable, they weren't so bad that it cancelled out the feeling of power wearing them gave her as they returned their hands to their original positions. A couple of her fingers snaked up into the knot of his tie and pulled it loose before she removed the tie and slung it over the back of her neck. 

Her fingers moved deftly to the buttons of his shirt next, and she didn't waste any time removing the article of clothing. It joined her dress in a wrinkled heap on the floor, and her hands slid up to roughly clutch his shoulders, turn him, and move him toward the bed. When the backs of his knees met the edge of the furniture, he abruptly sat down and threw his hands back to catch himself. She squatted down to continue making out with him, dragging her hands down his chest toward his belt. Then, she kissed his neck right under his ear and murmured, "You doing okay?"

All he could do was mumble an "mhm" before she undid the buckle. The pressure her hands placed on him through his pants made him hiss from pleasure, and she smiled cunningly at him as she left trails of burgundy lipstick stains that surrounded small hickeys down his chest. 

First went his shoes and socks, and then her hands ran back up his legs to the waist of his dress pants. He lifted himself off the bed slightly to allow her to remove them, and they joined the growing pile on the floor. Finally, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down, allowing him to spring free as she left her last hickey on his hip bone.

And, in one smooth motion, she took him entirely into her mouth.

He groaned and breathed shallowly at the sensation, closing his eyes at first before daring to look down at her. Her mouth, still adorned with some remnants of her lipstick, slid up and down his shaft, taking him as deep into her throat as she could. His left hand clutched the quilt, his right hand threaded into her elaborate hairdo, and he threw his head back to moan.

At one point, his grip on her hair tightened, and he attempted to move her faster, but as soon as she realized this, she sank her mouth the entire way down onto him, held herself there by wrapping her hands around his ankles, and glared tauntingly up at him, cocking an eyebrow as a gesture for him to let go.

He obeyed, and she only bobbed up and down a few more times before he came.

When he was finished, she stood up, swallowed, and looked down at him once again. Then, after she was done, she pressed a hand into his chest and laid him flat on his back on the bed.

"You doing okay?" she purred whilst running her nails lightly over the muscles in his shoulders and arms.

"Never better."

"Good. Now start backing up."

He did as he was told, swinging his legs up onto the bed and backing up toward the wall, dragging his weight along with his hands and feet. She followed him on her hands and knees, remaining face to face, on the prowl like a tiger, until he couldn't shift backward any further. Considering her options, she eyed a metal rod for a lamp attached to the wall, pulled the undone tie from around her neck, and snaked her hands up his arms, culminating the process in tying his wrists to the lamp with his tie.

And then she stood up from the bed and crossed to the kitchenette.

"Where are you going?" Kevin asked, still breathless from elation and his compromising position.

"To get a drink," Casey answered. "You wear me out, you know." 

She filled a glass from the tap in the sink, and he sized up her silhouette from the back. The only light came from the full moon filtering through the windows, and as he admired her form, he counted himself the luckiest man alive. Especially since he was still ready to go, ready to follow her lead as the only person he would ever take orders from.

With the full glass down, she placed it in the sink and finally kicked off her heels. Her bra and panties were the final articles of clothing to land on the floor, and she turned around to face him. The smirk on her face was threatening, and he loved it. She strutted toward him, fully naked, and joined him on the bed by swinging a leg over to straddle his midsection.

"One thing, please," he interrupted as her hips shifted further down his body.

"Yes."

"Untie my hands for this part."

After a moment, she reached up to the wall lamp, hooked her finger in the tie, and pulled it loose so he could slip free. His hands found her hips and gripped tightly. The certain bruising his hands would cause would have felt unnatural by anybody else, but as she stared down into his eyes, glittering in the moonlight, she only saw the best of intentions.

_ It's only natural. Maybe we need some marks for the best moments to make up for the worst. _

She sank down onto him, and they groaned loudly in unison. Before long, she was swiftly rocking her hips over him, grinding back and forth and moving in circles as she felt pleasure build within her. She leaned down and kissed him fervently, and he clutched at her frail back, massaging her shoulders and leaving more finger marks. His left hand found the jeweled barrette piece she had used to hold her hair back, wrapped around it, and squeezed it to unclip from her hair before pulling it out. The wisps of her dark hair fell loose, and after slamming the clip onto his nightstand, he brought his hand up to run through her hair, threading his fingers through the soft tresses and tugging it as their mouths and bodies moved together.

One more rock back and forth. Another. And then, she came, and feeling her walls clench around him only made the sensation more blissful. He wasn't far behind, and he came inside her as she fell forward on top of him, breathing shaky and flesh burning.

After a few moments, she slowly lifted herself off him and excused herself to the bathroom as he processed the high and tucked himself under the quilt. He didn't understand how he had been so receptive to the entire experience, especially when he took his usual hatred for authority into account.

_ Because it's her. _

_ Because it's always been her. _

Straightening the quilt on her side, he waited for her to return, feeling happier than he had ever been in his life.


	20. Nicotine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I taste you on my lips and I can't get rid of you, so I say damn your kiss and the awful things you do."
> 
> Particular TWs for panic attacks and intense self-loathing

The cold mirror pressed against Casey's forehead as she leaned over the sink and helped to ground her, but she couldn't ward off the panic attack as it took root. She couldn't even cry, but as she stood shaking over the sink, she felt like her head was going to explode as she realized what had happened.

_ What the hell is wrong with me? _

She slowly looked up at herself in the mirror and was terrified. Her hair flared out and cascaded in a wild, tangled mane, and the dark makeup around her eyes had smudged and sweated to an uncanny valley between raccoon eyes and bruises. And, worst of all, she caught a glimpse of the flickering lust deep in her eyes.

She probably wouldn't have been thrown into a panic immediately after if it weren't for the other sparks that lust danced with. She was angry. Still angry over their fight, angry that she felt alien in such a festive crowd with her peers, angry that she still needed him, the Clyde to a Bonnie she never signed up to be, the polar opposite of the normal life she had craved for so long, the one person who treated her like a complete human in a world full of what he considered to be stepping stones. It made her heart flutter and stomach turn, and she was angry at herself for entertaining the addiction.

But that anger didn't compare to the self-hatred. Because she had also been angry at losing her control over him since their falling out, had longed to have the wild card in her hand once again, and no amount of consent from him would change the fact that she felt like she had used him. 

And that was the deepest stab in her heart when she had shut the bathroom door, keeled over the sink, and felt her body being dragged into living Hell. Knowing that she had only bothered to hook up with a young man who had been used and abused his whole life because she needed to feel some semblance of control.

**_Knock knock!_ ** "Casey? Is everything okay?"

There wasn't a clock in the bathroom, but she had to have been in there ten minutes at least. She snapped her attention to the door through which Kevin's groggy voice had travelled. Gripping the cold ceramic basin, she attempted to regain her wits. Being stark naked didn't help, and the vulnerability she had once been comfortable showing him felt too raw, too real, when coupled with her psychological distress.

_ He was so happy. He doesn't need to know. He doesn't need to see me like this. _

**_Knock knock!_ ** "Casey, can I come in?"

She wanted to push him away if only for his own good. She felt like a powder keg, ready to explode into either another fight or another round, either of which would surely lead her to succumb to another, much worse panic attack. And as much as she wanted to pin this on their mutual lack of genuine trust, she feared that would only confirm to her that she needed to be in control and that she enjoyed her mind games.

"Casey," he pleaded, "please open the door. Whatever it is, we can talk through it."

_ If only. _

Glancing into the mirror one last time, knowing that the tears had erupted as she dissected her mental state, she finally pushed away from the sink and opened the door, blankly staring past him into the main room.

Kevin stood there in his boxers, staring down at her hunched form, the concern on his face contorting to sorrow when he saw the haunting look on her face. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms, terrified of whatever internal precipice she was standing on, but he didn't dare risk pushing her over the edge by doing so.

"Hey," he said softly, staring into her hollow eyes. "Do you want to come sit down? Can I get you water or anything?"

_ I don't deserve you. _

A couple more tears rolled down her cheek, and with a subtle shake of her head, she stiffly brushed past to gather her clothes.

"Casey," he spoke up, trailing her to the pile on the floor, "please, don't leave yet. Something's up, and I don't want you to get hurt going home, alright?"

"You should know by now that doesn't mean a damn thing!" she snapped as she slid on her underwear and pivoted to face him. Her body still trembled from the wellspring of negative emotions within her. "God dammit, Kevin, I can't keep doing this!"

She pushed past him again to retrieve her dress, and as she started to slide it back on, he couldn't bear to sit by and watch helplessly a second time as she walked out on him. "Keep doing what? Please, if I did something wrong-"

"You didn't do anything," she sighed, "but I can't keep dragging you into... _ this... _ to manipulate you."

His heart had a definitive crack after the confession. "You're manipulating me?"

She ran a hand through her tangled hair. "I didn't realize it until tonight, but I should have known that I was. God, you told me you trusted me and the first fucking thing I do is-"

"Casey! Stop!" he spat out, taking a step toward her and grasping her wrists. "I told you, it was fine! I enjoyed tonight, for the love of God, you didn't trick me into anything-"

"That doesn't change a thing!" she whispered venomously. "I had the gall to say we were never friends, but then I jump on you at the first sign of forgiveness! Please tell me how that's NOT what a monster would do?"

Kevin cupped his face in his hands to calm himself, but her insistence that she was guilty was wearing him thin. "It's not something a monster would do because you made sure you had consent, yeah? And if you wanted to shake things up, cut loose, I was right there with you the whole time. And I really wish you'd stop coddling me over everything!"

Now, Casey was confused. "Coddling you?" she whispered, eyes wide and mind cloudy.

"You keep acting like I'm going to break if you so much as touch me," he stated, each word a spoken punch as he stepped closer to the distraught girl, "you insist I include you in something that could very well get you killed just so you can know I'm safe, you act like I don't damn well know that what I'm doing could land me behind bars-"

"Well, maybe it's because I care about what happens to you, okay?" she snapped. "It's how I know I fucked up when I said we weren't friends. As pissed off as I was...you're all I've thought about."

"I'll bet," he retorted. "Wondering why the fuck you took a chance on unrequited trust when you know, better than anyone else, why I should have trust issues."

The muttered words pierced her as a hot knife, and she couldn't believe he would stoop to that level. His past was not ammunition for him to use against her, but she was thrust from her inner chaos into complete clarity by his words. And she had her own to say, knowing that, once she collected her borrowed accessories and found her phone and disappeared into the late night, she may not voluntarily see him again.

"I'm sorry," she started firmly, loud enough to make her intentions clear but low enough so as not to lose her composure again, stone-faced yet sincere. "I'm sorry if I've offended you by being too nosy, and overprotective, and careful. I'm sorry that I'm such a fucking basket case that I panicked about us. I'm sorry for the yelling, the screaming, the crying, the bitterness, everything. And most of all, I'm sorry I haven't taken the time to just sit down and  _ ask _ about your triggers. I'm disappointed in myself, because I know what it's like, but I chose to assume we were the same instead of trying to figure it out like you did. And so I think it's best for the both of us if we don't see each other anymore."

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. And finally, with shaky breath and welling eyes, he whispered,

"Please. Stay."

Casey wanted to stay. But if giving the silent treatment earned her nothing else, she had received time to think. She had realized exactly what she felt. It wasn't romance.

It was addiction. Addiction to companionship, to the joy and terror that he inspired within her, to the power his presence gave her. Power that she needed to discover on her own.

"Listen to me," she murmured. "I'm a goddamn trainwreck. And if I stay, then all of the help I think I'm providing you by dragging you out of trouble...is just going to put you more at risk. It's funny, you know, how reckless we've been. And I think the fact that we dove into this headfirst just made us both, I don't know, catalysts for the chaos we already had inside to come to light. But...I don't want chaos, okay? All I wanted from this thing we had was to feel alive, but now, all I feel is alarm. And it makes me so sad, because I lo-"

_ No. _

_ Don't say that word. Not unless you want to fall back into this batshit crazy cycle. _

She clamped her mouth and eyes shut, letting the tears roll down her face in place of the one word that would actually explain why she was always a mess around him. Kevin stared gaping at her, pain overtaking anger as the fuel to the surge within him, and he stepped forward to rest a hand on her jawline. Raising her head to meet his gaze, he implored, as gently as possible,

"Tell me."

But she couldn't. Not when she had already bared her soul in preparation to say goodbye. She wouldn't twist the knife like that.

"Casey," he whispered again, giving her a small, pained smile through pleading eyes, "I never thought I'd be here, but I'm actually begging you. Just...before you walk out that door, tell me what you're so afraid to say."

Casey had never seen him in this state before. She knew there was a vulnerability buried beneath the suave persona and the derision for authority and the disregard for anyone's needs except for those of the people in that tense, oppressive room. But to see him begging for her to break his heart, knowing they had torn up all the dirt on why they were two fucked up peas in the same pod and not caring because it was  _ her _ . Because she understood, and so she was worth his time.

_ Inhale. Exhale. _ She locked in on his eyes and hardened her face so that the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her once again would only show through narrow cracks.

"I love you. But if we're going to keep playing these games, me panicking about everything, you encouraging all the parts of me that I'm trying so hard to keep in check, because the last thing you need is my problems on top of yours and the last thing I need is to lose control...if we're going to keep doing this, then I don't really know if loving you is what I want."

Kevin was stunned. The obvious place to start processing was out of the question. Responding to something like that, with the confession that he had also been dying to make, would only pour gas on the fire. And she was right, anyway. As he looked inside himself, he realized a horrifying truth: he just may have been manipulating her like everyone else. Because he needed to be loved and understood, and as much as he reciprocated the feeling, he wanted more than just someone who cared.

He sought a partner in crime, and in doing so he tore her apart.

Kevin let go of her face and stepped back. Shutting her out would be so much easier than facing that fact, and he needed her to see him as everyone else did.

"I understand," he answered, scowling at her through drying tears. "If that's how you feel, then...I guess there's no point in dragging you into this anymore. Have a nice life."

That's when Casey realized just how much she had been projecting. Because as she collected the rest of her things and descended to the street below, ready to return to the normalcy she secretly despised, her heart shattered into a million pieces.

Kevin instantly regretted those four words, but it was no use. She was gone.

_ Until tomorrow. And then your sorry ass is back on her playing field. _

_ Tomorrow. _

He was physically ill at the thought of what he had to do next. But with nobody else to turn to and dwindling time to set things right, he would need to maneuver his way through dangerous waters.


	21. Stockholm Syndrome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But I feel I'm getting used to being held by you."

"You ever been married?" Kevin asked offhandedly. "I don't mean anything by it, scout's honor. I'm just...overthinking, I guess."

Dr. Cooke narrowed his eyes at the young man from across the desk. "Scout's honor, huh? Anyway, I don't discuss personal business with patients. Now-"

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I just...I've been lost, I don't know."

The doctor clenched his jaw and clicked his pen, sizing up his patient in an attempt to figure out some sort of connection between the topics. Finally, he sighed and stated, "Well, these sessions are supposed to be about you. Has something happened?"

"Can somebody have a strong connection with another person even if they're antisocial?"

Dr. Cooke's eyes popped open at the sudden question, and he rested his pen on the desk, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and folded his hands in front of him. "Well," he began, "that's a bit of a controversial question. Would you care to elaborate?"

Kevin bit the inside of his cheek. While it was certainly the psychiatrist's job to ask questions, he still seemed pushy.  _ Makes sense that he sucks at his job, considering he abuses his own damn niece.  _ "I've...done my own research into antisocial personality disorder between our sessions, especially with your tests for the disorder. I guess I didn't want to admit it outright at first, I figured it would be smoother if I just used this as trauma therapy, which I definitely need, but now…"

An imperceptible smirk broke on the doctor's face as he relished in the confirmation of his theory. "I understand. Would you like me to open a specific file for this matter? I can claim it as a subsection of your criminal case, and it won't come at any extra cost to you."

This evoked a chuckle from the young man that, as always, sent a chill down the doctor's spine. "Nah. I've already got years of therapy and rehab ahead of me for this damn thing, I'd rather not tack on more just so I can be your lab rat."

Dr. Cooke sat up indignantly. "Fine, then. Is there anything else behind your question?"

Kevin took a deep breath, leaned forward, and began.

"If I'm being honest, I really don't care about people or their stupid rules for life. You've guessed that by now, I'm sure. The school could burn down tomorrow and I'd probably applaud the guy who had the balls to do it. Rules were made to be broken, people are too boring to feel any empathy for, blah blah blah, threat threat threat. But...something's changed. There's a girl in my- my English class. Trinity Smith. She lives on the floor below me, actually. We started talking a couple days into school. And we had a lot in common, including the whole, y'know, childhood trauma thing. And we started talking more and more...and now I'm confused. Because I've always pinpointed people's motives from the outset, always wondered what the hell I'm supposed to do or say so people don't realize that I don't care how they feel or what happens to them. But I was never afraid of her seeing me. And, better or worse or whatever the hell adjective you want to use, while I still couldn't feel empathy for anybody but her if I tried...she's helped me be functional. Kept me in check when I've decided to be a smartass. Dragged me out of a couple of ugly moments before they got uglier. She cares about me, and I don't understand why for the life of me. But I've fallen for her, and now everything's gone to shit between us."

Dr. Cooke stared sternly at the young man, and the gears turned in his mind as he processed the impassioned speech. Something about it felt notably out of place compared to the poetic flow of the troubled youth's confession, but he neither could place it nor would imply that he thought his patient was lying. Granted, he personally thought the entire tale was unlikely, but his job wasn't to call the young man's bluff.

"I see," he finally exhaled. "I would say it is normal for trauma survivors to form much deeper bonds with other survivors than with peers who have not lived through those experiences, but...it is rather curious how this disorder, which you may or may not have, as I still need to conduct more observations to confirm so, has seemed to exacerbate that effect. And now, for the million dollar question. You used past tense verbs in your description of your relationship with Miss Smith, and you stated, and I'm quoting here, that your relationship has ‘gone to shit.’ So I must ask, is this the reason for your uncouth introductory question this morning?"

Kevin nodded, face solemn.

"I see. Would you care to elaborate on this particular situation?"

As he relived the memory of the prior night's hysteria on both their parts, he winced and ran a hand through his hair. "Over the past couple of weeks, our relationship has been more...ahem, physical, but we've also been more prone to arguments. And then last night, after prom, we went home together after prom, things were going well, and then...she said that she loved me, but that she didn't want me, and that I shouldn't want her. Things were said by both of us, things I'd rather not repeat...and as she went home, I told her to have a nice life."

The doctor exhaled heavily with his cheeks puffed at the young man's final words, which he was surprised weren't his literal last words. "Well," he tried to venture as the air grew thick, "I feel I must ask, since it poses a very real concern for your case: was there any physical violence?"

Kevin was appalled. "Really? Did you not hear a word I said? I wouldn't hurt a hair on- Trinity's head."

The doctor glowered at his patient. "Now, that's quite enough. It's just a safety precaution. You mentioned that you had been going through a period in your relationship that was both good and bad. If you would discuss the 'bad' of that, please."

He feigned hesitation and discomfort, running his hands through his hair and staring at his lap and directing his eye contact everywhere except the doctor. "I've got a couple of guys from the city that drop by once a week. And...we smoke pot. That's it. It clears my head, and I figure, as long as I'm not hurting anybody, they can't flag me for it. But she's mad that there's more drugs in the building, because one of the guys is supposedly sneaking behind my back to pedal to my neighbors."

"Mhm. Have either you or her confronted him about this accusation?"

"Are you kidding? The man's a damn weasel. Lies his way out of anything and everything. And she's always so worried about everything I do landing me in prison, and it's so patronizing!"

"Have you considered that she has your best interests at heart?"

Once again, he put on a mask, this time of dejection. "I know. But...I want to keep her as far away from this as possible. She may be able to understand the PTSD and the recovery from that, but she doesn't need to be reminded that I'm a killer, and she doesn't need to get tangled up with my old- well, not pals, per se- but anyway, they're not the sort of danger she probably signed up for when she decided to date me."

Neither of them spoke for a couple minutes as Dr. Cooke mentally dissected each revelation. Finally, he asked, "Have you considered the fact that maybe she appreciates you in spite of your past and your entanglements?"

Kevin snorted. "One of the last things she told me was that all of it drove her crazy."

"The fact that they happened, or the fact that you're so secretive about them?"

The punch in the gut the question posed was entirely candid, but he had made it so far outright lying to the doctor with his expressions, so he simply adopted a stoic expression. "Why would she want to get involved with that? All she wants is a normal life."

The doctor shrugged. "It seems she has a high degree of empathy. Those who possess this trait tend to want to know all the components of their partners, good and bad, so they can help them cope, and she may have just wanted you to move toward a normal life with her."

Kevin hadn't expected his experiment in deception to rip open the wounds the argument had left, but the psychiatrist wasn't finished. "I would also say it sounds like the two of you took things way too fast. You've only been at Upper Merion for what, two months? And she said she loved you, and you told her to get lost for good. Dealing with all of these absolutes when you're young can distort your perception of relationships and force you to hold yourself to such a high standard, which would explain why she said you, quote, 'shouldn't want her.' And I'm not going to say any of this speculation is fact, but, from the look in your eyes, it seems to strike pretty close to the heart of your argument, does it not?"

Kevin didn't even realize a tear had rolled down his cheek, that he had been watching the doctor so intently, that his neutrality had failed entirely. He was only sad that he himself had not been so receptive to the situation, especially with the one person he cared for.  _ No. Loved. _ And this horror at himself was only worsened by the disgust that he had to hear the sage advice from the person who tortured the light of the young man's life.

"Thank you," Kevin whispered hoarsely.

Dr. Cooke gave him a tight-lipped smile. "It's what I'm here for, kid. But, I'm afraid there's an issue."

"...What?"

"With your admission of using a controlled substance, I'm afraid I'll have to contact your parole officer. But...I'm sure I could cut you a deal."

Kevin cocked an eyebrow and leaned in to hear the proposition.

"If you promise to give those city boys the boot and take steps to reconcile with your girl, then I could let this slide."

His eyes lit up as the pieces to his plan fell into place. He extended a hand. "Thank you, Dr. Cooke, for all of your help today."

"Like I said, it's my job." The men shook hands. "I will say, though, that we will have to check on your med dosage at your next appointment. We'll schedule for Saturday, yeah? And I would like to conduct a couple of new tests."

He was now on high alert. "Tests for what?"

"It's possible we may have been targeting the wrong personality disorder. Given your childhood trauma and the impulsivity and interpersonal instability you've decided to open up about, it's possible you may have borderline personality disorder. But, as I said, that can be saved for Saturday."

Kevin nodded, still spaced out. "I understand. Thank you for your time today."

"Naturally. I appreciate that you've chosen to be so open about what's going on now. Therapy doesn't work on just the past, yeah?" The young man nodded vaguely in response. "Good. Now if you'll follow me out, we'll schedule our next appointment.

When they exited to the main reception area, Casey was just entering the front door, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw Kevin. He, on the other hand, kept walking and kept his head down. To round out the awkward trio, Dr. Cooke addressed her in faux glee.

"Ah! Casey! I have a file I need to review for my twelve o'clock. Could you get Mr. Crumb checked out and scheduled?" 

Hesitantly breaking her stillness, she nodded and vindictively strode up to the main desk. The psychiatrist retreated to his office, and the other two went about their business almost wordlessly.

In the stillness of the room, Casey noticed the stain of tears on Kevin's cheek and was taken aback by the varied implications of its presence.  _ Did he spill his guts? Was he thinking about what happened? Did he lie about me? Was it just one of those mornings, but worse because of what I said? He never cries after talking to John. Hell, he was ready to kill him a couple weeks ago. _

"Hey."

Casey glowered up at the source of the voice addressing her. Kevin was haunted by the bags under her eyes and the remnants of smudged eyeliner accentuating them, but he needed to make one last point before his plan was set in motion.

"I'll see you around."

As he turned to leave, Casey huffed and turned away to guard the tears that threatened to stream down her own face. As he retreated to the street outside, he moved with a sense of purpose that seemed strange to her. Pressing the power button on her phone to unlock the screen, she found where she had almost blocked his number entirely on the cab ride from Claire's house.

And then, she exited the particular screen in a halfhearted refusal to pull the trigger and set back to work, hoping to compose herself before the next patient arrived.

If only there were another patient that day. Because Uncle John had actually dismissed himself to ponder four words.

_ Trinity Smith from English. _

_ Interesting. But they don't have the same class, do they? _

As he shuffled through the files from Kevin's weekly reports from the school and Casey's class schedule documentation, he began to see a discrepancy.

And he made a quick call to a drinking buddy, stewing over whatever sleight of hand these kids were attempting to pull and needing something to distract him.


	22. Walking Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've been fighting these feelings, but I finally gave in 'cause I remembered that after, none of it would exist."

Kevin watched the alley below his fire escape for any sign of movement, anxiously awaiting his weekly visitor. He had already been downstairs to discuss his change of heart with the muscle of the operation, and all that was left was to confront the brains.

"There's my man!"

_ Or lack thereof.  _

Kevin glowered at Jai as he hastened up the winding stairs, donning a nondescript black T-shirt and a large backpack. However, once his companion reached his balcony, the expression had softened into agitated neutrality, and he met Jai's eyes with a thinly concealed resolve.

"Figured you'd be out pedaling to some of the all-day after-partiers," Kevin drawled. "You know, I don't need a new shipment."

Jai huffed and smirked. "Well maybe I've just come to collect what's mine."

"That you have," Kevin answered, glaring at the alleged boss. "If you could follow me inside, please."

The icy poison in his voice set each of Jai's nerves on edge, and he trailed Kevin into the apartment. He was grateful when he noticed the money box out and ready on the cooling chest, but his host continued to the kitchenette and drew himself a glass of water before leaning against the counter.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Kevin asked, not caring about the answer.

"No," Jai answered confusedly before his face grew stern. "Anyway, do you mind if we just get down to business?"

"Course not," Kevin answered with a smirk. He peeled the tape off of the key stowed beneath his cabinet and tossed the key to Jai. He caught it, looked down at it perplexedly, then turned to insert it in the lock.

Finding the box completely empty, he pivoted around and angrily inquired, "Just what the fuck are you pulling here?"

Kevin couldn't keep a straight face and immediately bust out laughing. While Jai glowered at him, he slowly regained his composure, opened a drawer, and pulled out an accounting book and a bundle of cash.

"Your cut's right here," he wheezed before ending his hysterical laughter with a wide, menacing smile, "but before you can get it, you're going to do something for me first."

"Oh yeah? And what's that?"

Kevin placed the cash firmly on the counter and deliberately approached his guest, standing tall, grinning, and shooting daggers from his eyes. "You're going to unpack that cooler, take everything home, and not drag me into your business again."

Jai maintained eye contact and kept quiet, but the dumbfounded expression on his face was enough to speak for him. Finally, he asked, "Did that bitch get into your head?"

This was met by a fist directly to the teeth, and Jai yelped as he reeled back.

"I don't give a fuck if we've been so-called friends forever," Kevin growled, "if you call her that again, you're getting thrown headfirst off the balcony. And even if I were doing this for her, my psychiatrist found out, so I have to bow out anyway before shit hits the fan. Now, do we have a deal or not?" 

Jai scowled at him, clutching his jaw as his mouth filled with blood. Through the pain, he jeered, "That depends. What are you going to do if I say no?"

Kevin smiled derisively. "I'll use your cut to pay security downstairs to distribute the product for free and make sure your sorry ass isn't seen around here again. And you should know that this week had a huge spike in sales. Choose wisely."

Jai huffed and looked away. "You're really willing to burn this bridge for a girl, huh?"

Kevin laughed again. "For the record, nobody in this building likes any of the city dealers. I'm just supporting my local businesses. And yes, like I said, we were only ‘so-called friends.’ And that's probably because you're a brat who flips his shit at the first sign of something not going his way. I could put up with it then. Now that I've found somebody I give a damn about, I'm not putting up with your bull anymore. So. What will it be?"

Jai glared for a moment longer before finally answering,

"Fine. I'll take it."

At five o'clock, Uncle John left for the bar with someone Casey hoped was a colleague.  _ At least there would be one smart person between them if he goes overboard.  _ Once he was gone, she made herself a dismal dinner and retreated to her room to force herself to finish her neglected homework.

An hour passed. Then two. She realized this would probably be one of his binge-drinking nights and sighed heavily. 

_ Who made you put them there? _

The question echoed hollowly in Casey's mind, and she curled in on herself in a futile effort to rid herself of the emotional pain of her last few encounters with Kevin. Whenever she weighed her options when speaking to her uncle in the past couple of weeks, she could always hear him in the back of her mind, telling her not to take his berating statements and drunken outbursts.

_ That's last thing you need, my dear. To cave to his games. _

And the sourceless thoughts. They had become far louder since her encounter with the woman in the attic, and she couldn't help but wonder if this woman---imaginary or invisible or whatever she may be---was opposed to her...her…

_ God, I can't even call it friendship without feeling like shit. What's wrong with me? _

She hated herself for everything that happened. And while she deserved a chance at normalcy, especially considering her home life, she had hurt Kevin in the process and swore she might never forgive herself.

_ He hurt you back. He was just as mean to you. _

As true as that might be, she didn't want to accept it. She had started both fights, and she wanted to take a numb comfort in the fact that she apologized for her behavior. 

_ Have a nice life. _

_ I'll see you around. _

Everything swirled and screamed in her head, and there was no way to turn the volume down. He wouldn't have said either thing if he didn't mean it, so what changed in twelve hours?

**_Bzzzt-bzzzt! Bzzzt-bzzzt! Bzzzt-bzzzt!_ **

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and teared up at the sight of Kevin's caller ID.  _ No. It's better if you don't entertain him. _

_ But what if he's calling to apologize? _

She sent the call to voicemail, tossed her books onto the floor, and laid down with her eyes closed, hoping that forcing herself to fall asleep and face her vivid dreamscape would distract her from her broken heart.

**_Bzzzt-bzzzt_ **

Casey pursed her lips and picked up her phone.

**Please answer. You can curse me out all you want, just please pick up the phone.**

**_Bzzzt-bzzzt! Bzzzt-bzzzt! Bzzzt-bzzzt!_ **

With a huff, she answered the call. "What?"

Silence. She continued. "Look, if you want to talk to me so bad, then why don't you-"

"I'm sorry."

"Well, that's a start."

Both of them winced at the cutting words, and Casey resumed her exhausted tirade. "That was rude. But I'm serious. Why are you calling after...that?"

"Because I love you, too."

She suddenly felt like she was suffocating, and the consistent downward whirlpool of her thoughts erupt outward, and tears welled in her eyes as she abruptly sat up.

"Casey?"

"I'm here. Um...wh-what was that again?"

"I said, I love you. And it's about time I say it out loud."

The tears started streaming down her face, and she physically restrained herself from sobbing by wrapping her free arm around the middle of her torso. While she attempted to keep her voice steady, this failed as her breathing became more choked by the towering wave of emotion that crashed over her.

"But...but all of that dramatic shit I put you through...I told you, you really shouldn't."

"Yeah, well, by that standard, you absolutely shouldn't love me, either. But here we are, and I think it's about damn time we get over ourselves."

A sob escaped and mingled with a pained laugh as her knees buckled and she landed gently on the floor. She felt like she was floating, and hearing him say the words she knew were true, that she wanted to be true, but didn't want to acknowledge after their disastrous night together, robbed her of what little discernment she had left. 

"Casey? Please, talk to me."

"I'm sorry."

"I know, and again, it's my turn. And...I'm new to empathy, I guess, so that's my first apology, is that I'm sorry if I fuck this up. I'm sorry you had to worry so much on my behalf, and I'm sorry that...that I projected on you, about it being patronizing. You're the strongest human being I know, dealing with what... _ he's  _ putting you through, and then willingly dealing with my bullshit on a daily basis. I'm sorry I didn't put more trust in you, your judgment, your ability to be levelheaded when I'm acting like a complete jackass. I'm sorry that...that I flipped out on you during your panic attack last night, that was so shitty of me to do. I'm sorry that I caused you pain by putting myself in trouble, because I genuinely never thought about the possibility of anyone loving me and caring if I got hurt. But I'm trying to do better. I'll try to be good. For you."

Casey could hear him crying through the phone, and she realized that he meant every word. He wouldn't be sobbing otherwise, and it cut deep into her soul.

They both just let their sadness and joy and frustration flow through them for a couple minutes before Casey whispered, "Kevin?"

"...Yes?"

"I forgive you. For all of it. And I love you. Please never forget that."

A contented sigh, and then, "I love you, too. And...I need to tell you something."

"Mhm?"

"I'm...I'm not dealing anymore."

Shock joined the blend in her tumultuous mind. "What?"

"I remembered back to two weeks ago. When we started having problems. How you said I had no place dealing and putting myself in danger to support you. And I realized that I didn't want to risk putting either of us in danger just so I could support you if you needed it. And...I'm going to talk to my parole officer. See if I can get a job soon. It'll be slim pickings, with my record, but...I need to be there for you in any way I can be. Might as well do it honestly, rather than getting my ass thrown in prison, where neither of us will be better off."

Her heart fluttered at the sentiment, and she smiled widely so he could see her in spirit. "Kevin...you...you abandoned your old friends for me?"

"You're the only real friend I've ever had. You're the only person who's ever made me...feel. Feel anything but anger and sadness and pain."

A pause. And then, "And...I know you weren't mad at me for dealing. You were mad at me for lying. I understand, and I'm not going to give you bullshit about how it was easier to do so. Because it wasn't, and I had the perfect opportunity to tell you, and I didn't."

She hesitated before responding. "Just...keep what you've earned already, alright? I don't care if it's drug money. You still earned it, and you still need to support yourself."

"I will. Most of it." A deep breath. "Good God, I sound like a broken record, but I love you."

She giggled lightly through her tears. "I love you too. Can we talk about this more tomorrow?"

"Actually, no."

She squinted in confusion and wiped away the remaining tears. "Why? Did something else happen?"

Silence.

"Kevin?"

"Look out your window."

Casey sharply gasped at the instruction and froze, only moving to clap her phone to her chest so he wouldn't hear her surprise. Drawn by some otherworldly force, she eased off the bed and stepped toward the window.

The tears flooded back at the sight in the small backyard. Kevin stood immediately in front of the small back fence so as not to be seen by the neighbors, holding a bouquet the size of his torso full of yellow flowers in the hand that wasn't holding his phone. She hung up the call and opened the panes.


	23. Lucky Ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Every now and then the stars align, boy and girl meet by the great design. Could it be that you and me are the lucky ones?"
> 
> Particular TW for alcohol use

Climbing the trellis to her window was an awkward affair, especially having the bouquet precariously balanced against him the whole time, but seeing Casey's zeal as he stepped onto the windowsill made the climb worth so much more to Kevin. He crashed into her as he stumbled down from the ledge but was extra careful to hold the flowers out of the way, and she wrapped her arms around him and held him like her life depended on it. Her sobs got the best of her, and when he returned the hug, they both fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and emotions and aroma from the flowers.

"I never want to let you go," she whispered hoarsely.

"Then don't," he murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to her ear. "We don't have to move from here. Just hold me, you'll be okay."

She had to shift her weight eventually, as the floor became too hard for her to kneel on. She fell sideways, he followed suit and rested the bouquet on the ground, and they simply laid on the floor. Kevin played with her hair, Casey traced lines up and down his spine, and neither of them dared to move for fifteen minutes.

Finally, she whispered, barely audibly, "Can we talk?"

He gave her a small "mhm," pushed himself off the floor, and lent her his elbow to help her up to her feet. They shuffled toward her bed, where they sat on the edge as she cupped his face with her hands and pressed her forehead into his.

"Whatever you want to say," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist, "I'm all ears."

Casey smiled softly, allowing herself to drift in the crystal ocean of his eyes before speaking. "I think we should start over."

"What do you mean?"

She removed a hand from his face to wipe away a stray tear as it rolled down her cheek. "I think we moved way too fast, I think we should...probably avoid getting too passionate again until we've healed more and gotten used to each other. We talked about seeing what happens and couldn't keep our hands off each other...and look where it brought us. And saying this now, I don't love you any less, I just think it's better for both of us if we take it slower."

His face reflected her own, and he gently brushed his lips against her wrist in a small kiss. Nodding, he quietly answered, "Of course, I don't want you to ever feel uncomfortable with me, okay?"

She pressed a brief kiss to his lips, slung her arms around the back of his neck, and embraced him, still crying, but now from joy. As shaken as she still was from each jarring turn on their rollercoaster, she finally felt her heart pulling into the station. She was at home in his arms.

Casey pressed one more kiss to his cheek and pulled away, forcing herself to sober up before she went back on her word. "Well, no point in letting such beautiful flowers lay there," she hastily changed the subject, standing up and smoothing herself out. "I'll be right back. Make yourself at home."

She strode to the door and cracked it open slightly. No sounds or sign of movement downstairs, in case she had missed her uncle's return, so she quickly tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen and flipped on the light. His truck was idle in the driveway as he had left it, and there was no hint of any cars having pulled up recently. Finally sure she was safe, she rummaged through the cabinets and pulled out a large glass centerpiece that John hadn't used since their first Thanksgiving in Philadelphia. Resigning herself to the clumsy vessel, she partially filled it with water, and teetered back up to her room with it.

Upon entering, she found that Kevin had only removed his jacket and surveyed the room in the time she had taken to retrieve a vase. However, upon seeing her haul the clumsy object inside, he cleared off her desk and helped her support its weight as she set it down. Kevin retrieved the grand bouquet from the floor, untied the ribbon and paper, and funneled the stems into the centerpiece until the glass was adorned with an explosion of radiant yellow tulips. The finishing touch was to dispose of the paper and tie the bow, a rich burgundy strip of satin, around the neck of the glassware.

Casey nestled herself into his side, lifting his arm to drape over her shoulders and burying her face into his shirt.  _ He must have bought new cologne,  _ she told herself, making note of the new yet comforting cinnamon scent that wafted off him. He pressed a firm kiss into her hair and stroked up and down her flannel-covered arm with his fingertips.

They stood together in silence for a short while. Then, Kevin murmured, "Y'know what the florist told me?"

She hummed, "What was that?"

"That tulips symbolize new beginnings."

A grin spread over her face from cheek to cheek. "You wanted to start over too, didn't you?"

"Naturally. But I mean, I really only asked for suggestions on what flowers meant forgiveness. And then she gave me their deeper meanings, and I guessed these would be a good luck charm."

She looked up, kissed his cheek, and whispered, "So is that why you bought a million of them?"

He chuckled. "I figured I would need all the forgiveness I could get. Besides, seeing them looking like a beautiful sunrise here...I hope it helps you through the rough times."

Reality crashed down on her like a tsunami. "I'm going to have to find a place to hide these. John hasn't taken to barging in on me at all recently, but...they can't stay here, in case he does."

He mulled over the predicament, and the obvious answer popped into his mind immediately, though he wasn't too keen on sharing it. Nevertheless, his imagination for other options failed him. "I could take it up to the attic for you. I know having your own personal sunrise won't be any good if you can't see it, but...I could put it near the steps. That way you don't have to go into the darker and trippier parts to see it whenever you want to."

Casey rested her chin on his shoulder and stared up at him with admiration. "I appreciate your bravery. But I think I can do that myself tomorrow afternoon. I'll just forge a note saying that Claire dropped them off as a post-prom gift or whatever the hell rich people do."

Kevin snort-laughed at the jibe. "So. Are you going to call off your little army of bodyguards tomorrow?"

"I didn't even want them to be my bodyguards in the first place, they just kinda assumed the worst and chose to butt in."

"Fair enough." 

As they stood together longer, she contentedly traced his features with her eyes. The small streaks of ginger in his dark brown hair, the minuscule freckles peppering his neck, the striking edge of his jaw...she mentally cursed herself for not paying attention before. She couldn't believe she had been too caught up in just having him that she could ever forget to appreciate his pieces. Every one of these pieces was committed to memory.

Her eyes began to drift further down to where the neck of his shirt began to cover his back. She had only seen his scars by dim moonlight and in the fleeting glimpse from the fluorescent bathroom lights the previous night, and that was hardly enough time to give them the appreciation he had so lovingly granted hers.

Her arms snaked around the middle of his torso, and she gripped him tighter.  _ Don't think about last night. You weren't in a good headspace. You're here, with Kevin, in your house, right now, hugging him. And when you can trust yourself to do it properly, you can trace every single one. _

Finally, her eyes drifted to the jacket laying on the bed behind them.

"You know, I never asked where you got your jacket from. But you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

He sighed and smiled melancholically before turning to face her. "I went pillaging in my dad's old stuff when my mom was asleep. I was...seven? Eight? I found some of his old zookeeping manuals and a box of animal toys. That's…" His face became hollow and shadowy, and Casey rested a comforting hand on his jaw, guiding him back to eye contact. "That's how I became interested in zoology. And I also found this jacket. But...that day was also the worst beating I can remember. Most of her abuse before was neglect and screaming at me, but...that's the first physical abuse I know of. But she didn't take what I had found. So I kept all of it hidden under my bed and used it as comfort when things got really bad. And when I snapped...I didn't like all the prying eyes, so I wore the jacket to the courtroom as a shield."

Casey had started to tear up again, and Kevin comfortingly brushed his lips over hers. When she spoke, she did so in a low, cracking voice. "You're the strongest person I know. Being able to put an end to it so easily."

His face became pensive for a moment, but his next question caught her completely off guard.

"Do you want it?"

"...What?"

"Do you want to borrow my jacket? At least until after graduation, when you can move out of here?"

She gaped at him. "I couldn't ask you to give up something so personal."

He wasn't satisfied with the answer, and he stepped back to retrieve it from the bed. The hand that had caressed his face raised to cover her mouth and shook violently, but all she saw on his face as he raised it to drape over was calm joy.

She grabbed the insides of the jacket and pulled it tighter, feeling his warmth as it lingered from his arrival. It was now his turn to cup her face, and he used his thumb to wipe the sympathetic tears from her eyes.

"Now, even when I can't be here for you," he whispered, kissing her eyelids as they fluttered closed, "you'll have a safe haven."

They stood together in silence longer, and neither of them noticed that it was edging onto nine o'clock. Kevin broke the silence by asking, "Do you want to dance?"

"Hmm?"

"Since we never actually went to prom together...do you want to dance with me?"

"Um, I mean...sure, but I can't play music out loud. In case John comes home."

His lips met hers again, and he nibbled her bottom lip slightly before pulling away. "I've got earbuds we can share."

He unzipped one of the jacket pockets and pulled out a knot of black cords, which she dutifully helped untangle. The jack was plugged into his phone, a playlist full of calming slow songs was opened, and one earbud was given to each of them. After placing it in her ear and finally threading her arms into the jacket sleeves, she wrapped herself up in him once again, opting to hug him around his middle as they swayed back and forth to the music.

"I want to give you a normal life," he murmured at last, halfway through their ninth or tenth song, and Casey raised her head to look at him. The storm in his eyes this time wasn't of rage; it was of resolve, and it made her heart melt. "After graduation, I'm going to help you move in with me. I'm going to talk to my parole officer, I'm going to start doing my part in rehab and trying to do it honestly...and I'm going to get a job. That way I can support you until you find one."

She genuinely didn't know what to say except,

"I love you."

He kissed her blushing cheek and whispered into her ear, "I've always loved you."

It was a painting of pure bliss, and it was almost like they were the only people in the world. Almost. The funny thing about being with the person you love is that you're so focused on them that all your senses become enveloped by their presence. And that was certainly true of both of them. They couldn't see anything outside of each other's eyes, couldn't feel anything outside of each other's arms, couldn't hear anything outside of the music as they danced.

So the slam of the downstairs door went unnoticed.

When Uncle John found the kitchen light was on, he decided enough was enough. He was sick of Casey lying to him, he was sick of her not cleaning up after herself, and he was sick of the lack of responsibility she showed as a member of his family.

The staggered steps up the stairs went unnoticed as well.

Truth be told, they only noticed the ruckus he was causing when he threw her bedroom door open, and Casey pivoted around to meet his rabid eyes. Nobody moved a muscle.


	24. Blessed Are Those

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Blessed are those who know that God is never coming back. He's already let you go."
> 
> Particular TWs for graphic domestic violence and implied sexual assault

The air in the room became oppressive as the three stood completely still. John was leaning against the doorframe to support his body weight in the midst of his drunken stupor, which simmered into fury just behind his dark eyes. Casey was trembling as tears welled in her eyes, which became more hollow every second. And Kevin instantly regretted the story he had spun in therapy that morning as he realized just how imminent the danger to the frail girl beside him was.

All three were in a bind, but John made the first move, mustering as neutrally serious of an expression as he could in his intoxicated state.

"Mr. Crumb," he slurred, "why are you in my house?"

For once in his life, Kevin didn't have the right answer to ward off the threat. With Casey wearing his jacket, the giant bouquet on the desk, the wide-open window, and their embrace that had surely been visible from the door as the belligerent man had entered, lying would have been useless. But at the same time, if he told the truth…

_ She would be in danger. I won't do that to her. _

He kept quiet, as did she, but John wasn't having it. He staggered further into the room, towering over both of them, but neither of them moved. Kevin stood his ground and hardened his expression, and Casey was too terrified to even shift her weight.

"I said," the bearlike man repeated, now directing his quietly menacing address to his niece, "why is Mr. Crumb in my house?"

Her mind was blank of everything except a flashing red beacon of panic. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she also recognized that she had no good explanation. Her mouth remained shut, and she hated that she had to let him do the detective work himself. The intrusion on their moment was bad enough; as her mind raced to speculate what might happen to her, she felt like every little dissection of her room was a punch to the throat.

As John grimly surveyed the room, both of them watched with horror as each revelation resulted in a new layer of concealed anger that threatened to burst through his calculating facade. Casey knew he wouldn't explode on her, not yet, not until Kevin was gone and he could ensure that his credibility as a psychiatrist could remain intact, but the anticipation felt like millions of scorching needles stabbing crookedly into her skin.

Finally, John locked eyes with Kevin and smirked knowingly. "Fixing up your relationship with…'Trinity', huh?"

Not a word, and then, to Casey, "Does Trinity Smith even exist, or is she just your little shared codename?"

The trembling girl didn't speak, but merely closed her eyes as more tears rolled down her cheeks.

John heaved a sigh, rubbed his eyes, and waved a hand from Casey to Kevin while making the request, "Casey, please give Mr. Crumb his jacket."

His head snapped to look at her, pleading with her not to listen to the monstrous man, pleading with her to keep the shield he had imparted. However, she slid her arms out of the sleeves and passed the jacket to him with a quaking arm.

"Good girl," John continued in a calm voice that made Kevin's skin crawl. "Now if you could please close the window. You could fall out, and it's too breezy in here."

Casey lowered her eyes and turned to obey, but Kevin grabbed her wrist before she could move. She met his eyes, and he repeatedly mouthed, "Please, don't, I can help."

This was interrupted by a far more forceful announcement from John.

"Mr. Crumb, I don't appreciate you handling my niece in that manner. Let go of her, or I will call your parole officer and report this incident as a breaking and entering."

The young man glared at his supposed doctor in challenge, but Casey forced herself out of his grasp on her own, fearing what trouble was brewing within him. She forced the window down and slowly spun her body back around to see her enraged uncle. 

"Thank you." He vacated the doorway. "Now, if you'll please escort Mr. Crumb to the door, and I will call him a cab and get some fare for him."

She trudged forth, but the young man planted a hand on her shoulder and snaked around her, interrupting her path. He stared sternly into her eyes, hoping that she could break through the hollow shell that covered her face and see his deep concern.

"I'm not leaving," he muttered.

"...Just go, it's fine," she rasped, pretending everything was okay and hoping that, if she followed directions this one time, she could be spared the brunt of the punishment.

"It's not fine!" he hissed as she passively witnessed the storm brewing. "I'm not leaving you here alone. I'm not letting him-"

"Normal life, remember?" she said absentmindedly as she clutched his bicep and shuffled around him, leading him out the door. 

Kevin's protests had pricked John's ears, and when he saw Casey holding the young man's arm as they walked, he cleared his throat.

"Casey, please don't touch the patients. It's highly unethical."

She gave her uncle a hateful side-eye and removed her hand from Kevin, opting to lead him as they descended to the main area. Feeling as if she were merely floating, she crossed the room. She peered out the window, saw the cab, and looked back at John. The man had fished some cash from his wallet as he trailed them down the stairs and held it in an outstretched hand to Kevin. He eyeballed the cash and the donor, refusing to take it. Eventually, Casey snaked her hand up, grabbed it, and held it out to Kevin herself.

"Don't," he said softly, but it was too late to change either of their minds. He took the cash, slid through the side door, and paced out to the waiting taxi.

She remained frozen as John glowered at her, allowing his composure to dissolve in lava. Neither moved, neither spoke, and they were silent for half a minute until Casey's phone buzzed in her back pocket, and she hung her head and allowed silent sobs to jolt through her.

"Give me the phone," he muttered.

She didn't move.

"I SAID GIVE ME THE GODDAMN PHONE!"

Her hands continued to shake as she reached into her back pocket and removed it. He hastily snatched it away from her, and in this brief span of time, it buzzed in quick succession.

John opened the messages and read through the most recent ones.

**Casey, are you okay?**

**Casey, tell me if you're okay.**

**Do I need to call the cops?**

**I can come back. I won't let him hurt you.**

**Casey?**

**Casey???**

**Casey, please.**

**Fight him, don't let him hurt you.**

**Please tell me you're okay.**

**Casey???**

He scrolled up to the older messages and read through every damningly flirtatious text, every quip and meme, every complaint about him. He noticed that the last text timestamped before that night was over two weeks ago, and he remembered Kevin's therapy session that morning.

_ Physical. _

John turned and whipped the phone at the living room wall as hard as he could, leaving a dent and shattering the device. Casey's sobs were no longer silent, but this only encouraged him to go more ballistic. In one swift motion, he grabbed her by the throat, lifted her to eye level, and slammed her back into the wall.

"It's bad enough that I had to find out you lied to me when he couldn't keep his damn story straight today," he screamed directly into her face as she wheezed and thrashed. "It's bad enough that you've been spending the past month sneaking around and lighting up and ditching school and God knows whatever the fuck else behind my back."

The alcohol on his breath worsened her inability to breathe as she gagged. Her eyes began to roll up into her head as he continued his tirade.

"It's bad enough you've been up to your same bullshit stunts when I thought you had finally grown up, but you went and whored yourself out, too? And not just that---to one of my patients?"

Nearly unable to move her limbs, she was relieved when he finally dropped her to the floor. This didn't last long, as he kicked her directly in the ribs during an attempted inhale, and she started coughing violently as he lifted her by the scruff of her neck and spun her around.

"How much did you tell him?"

She said nothing.

"I ASKED YOU A FUCKING QUESTION!"

"If you think I'm such a fucking whore, why don't you figure it out?!" she spat out, and immediately wished she hadn't. He would take it as a challenge. He always did.

He slammed her forehead into the kitchen counter, but the concussion barely stopped her as the adrenaline took over. She yanked herself out of his grasp and landed a knee in his crotch, then booked it for the phone in the office.

Little did she know, he refused to be slowed down either. He climbed to his feet and trudged forward, lifting a cooking pot out of the sink and chucking it at her head as she rounded the corner to the door. It clipped the back of her head, causing her to fall forward and clutch her ears as it rang out from the impact with the wall.

When he saw her gingerly push herself off the floor, he refused to show mercy. Stumbling forward, he wrapped her hair around his hand and dragged her toward the stairs, with her kicking and screaming the entire way up, clawing at his hand and swearing at him and attempting to stand. However, whenever she found footing, he would tug her hair harder, and the repetition of this motion led to several strands of hair ripping out in his hand.

Climbing the stairs was a laborious affair, with the steps bruising Casey's tailbone but providing her more traction to stand up. She finally did, and the hair still attached to her head slid out of her captor's grip easily. She bolted down the stairs, but he lunged forward and grabbed her upper arm, digging in his fingertips until she felt like he was squeezing the bone directly. Wincing and crying, she whipped her head around to bite his wrist, but the sight of his own blood aggravated him more. Like a ragdoll, she was tossed down the stairs and landed on her side, wheezing as her mouth filled with blood.

"I'll be fucking damned," he bellowed as he descended to retrieve her battered body, "if I'll be assaulted in my own goddamn house!" With that, he threw her over his shoulder and cocked his head to dodge her flailing feet.

The vertigo of hanging upside down disoriented Casey, and she knew this was it. She couldn't move without being in pain or agitating him further, every heaved sob made her cough up blood, and she knew the path they were taking. It had been a much different path the one other time it happened, in their old house, and he had been far less violent, but the deliberation of his movements made her want to vomit. Dinner was already digesting, so blood took its place, but this didn't slow him down.

He whipped her down onto her bedroom floor, letting her head hit the hardwood before he lifted her up by the throat once again. A lighter was pulled from his back pocket, and he flicked it on. Her bruised, bloodshot eyes were drawn to the dancing flame, and she shook her head in weak protest as he moved the lighter closer to the bouquet. One tulip caught fire, then three, and suddenly the whole bunch was up in flames. The entire display was thrown through the closed window, and a bookshelf was shoved single-handedly until it covered the shattered escape route.

With no hope and no wish to live through this again, Casey blacked out.


	25. My Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But don't get distracted by the world as it falls apart around you."
> 
> Particular TWs for supernatural elements and graphic self harm

_ I pace up and down the corridor leading into His den, where Dennis has been fervently praying and wrestling Him down. At least, that's what I instructed him to do; He hasn't put up much of a fight, and I had to use a little persuasion for Dennis to follow my lead this time. At least now they realize the threat is credible, as painted over their faces as they watch me from their shoulder-to-shoulder ranks along the walls. _

_ Except for two. Though the rest of them have made a point to obey my orders and stare straight forward, I have not hindered them from sneaking a glance at the odd ones out, this evening's allotted guards, who now stand perpendicular to their fellows at the end of the hall opposite His den. _

_ Jade grits her teeth behind closed lips and glares directly into my eyes, trembling with aggression. Next to her, Barry rocks back and forth on his heels and toes, darting his eyes to each of his compatriots' faces anxiously yet remaining mostly stone-faced and unmoved. _

_ "M-Mith Patricia?" Hedwig speaks up. I pivot to look at him. _

_ "Yes, my darling?" _

_ "Why are we all upthtairth? I thought I wasn't allowed in the attic. Where ith Mithter Dennith?" _

_ I purse my lips in a polite grimace and straighten my collar before giving him a composed smile. "Dennis is protecting all of us while we are up here. And we are up here," I raise my voice, turning sternly to glower at the two offenders, "because we are owed answers from your ever dutiful guards this evening." _

_ Barry winces, but Jade doesn't so much as twitch a muscle. I step forward. _

_ "Tell me the course of events your evening took prior to this moment." _

_ Neither move. Neither speak. I certainly do not have time for their belligerent games, not when so much of this house's precarious balance is at stake. "Well? I expect an answer." _

_ Barry finally makes solid, neutral eye contact. "There really isn't much to say," he drawls steadily. "Jade and I were up here, praying, watching, waiting. We saw the owner leave with a friend before we came up to fulfill our duties just as everyone else did before the usual nightly routine. We opened the stairs, came up, entered the room, locked the door, lit the candles...all as you've always instructed us to. Opening prayer went smoothly, it was restless, but not more so than just about any other night. We guessed that tonight would be a prime feeding night, if the owner was drinking, but it remained subdued. We watched its every move, but it only paced. Like it was starved. Like it knew what was going on. We, on the other hand, were unaware until we heard the sound of crashing glass downstairs. I whipped my head around to ensure the noise wasn't up here, but Jade continued to watch it. It cried out, but it never left our sight, and it didn't disappear once." _

_ He wasn't budging from his stance nor his story, but I am not pleased with this answer.  _

_ "Do I look stupid to you?" I inquire. Barry doesn't glance away, and his eyes dare me to point out what I know to be the truth. "Do you expect me to believe for one second that H- it did not escape and exacerbate an argument when a child was beaten nearly to death and sexually assaulted under my roof?" _

_ Several of those standing behind me wince at my words. It drives a stake through my heart to mention the crime, especially with many of their histories of trauma, and especially when most of them had witnessed the horrific opening skirmish. Nevertheless, they need to see these delinquents put in their place. We have guard duty for this exact reason. _

_ "We do expect you to believe it," Jade states in a furious mutter, "because it's the only story we can tell, because it is exactly what happened. I didn't take my eyes off of it for a second, and all it did was pace around like a caged animal, even when we heard the glass shatter downstairs." _

_ "Didn't stop watching? Not for one second? Knowing your attention span, I highly doubt that." _

_ A spark cracked in her eyes, and I knew I struck a nerve. No matter. She can be easily calmed later. _

_ "Patricia," she mutters, giving me a strained smile of all lips and taking a step forward, "if I may." _

_ "That would be Miss Patricia to you, but present a case if you must." _

_ "Actually, Patricia, you don't get the honor of being treated as a leader in my book. Firstly because, in my sixty-five years of residing in this house, both alive and dead, you haven't afforded me any respect a single goddamn time." I am taken aback that she would use such profanity in the midst of this particular predicament, and yet she continues. "You've put on the kind, selfless ward mother schtick forever, you've touted hard work as a way to get ahead in life, but you've treated two of the three people in this room who actually labor every day like shit, been actively intolerant because we dare to occasionally mention that we don't fit into your moral vision for society, and degraded us for supposedly having zero attention span when that is not actually the truth because you are not qualified to treat or provide commentary on our past addiction issues." _

_ "It is my job," I snap before reeling in my temper and beginning again, "it is my job to rehabilitate you. You sought treatment from me, and-" _

_ "We sought a home!" Barry cries out. "Somewhere we wouldn't be judged, so long as we could do all the right things and work toward our own atonement!" _

_ "And do you really think," Jade continues, "that rehabilitation matters anymore? We're dead, for fuck's sake!" _

_ "I will thank you to not use such language in front of Hedwig and Polly!" I shout, and I can hear those behind me flinch. "Now, if you have any more grievances for your peers to consider, do enlighten us." _

_ "My other grievance is regarding your hypocrisy. You go on and on about doing what needs to be done, about stopping injustice when you see it. So why in God's name are Barry and myself the targets in this situation?" _

_ I hesitate for a moment, purse my lips, and ask, "What exactly are you implying?" _

_ "You were downstairs when the owner assaulted his niece. If it had been wreaking havoc, you would have seen it and had the numbers necessary to force it to stand down. And if the owner is actually just a giant fucking piece of shit, which is my personal theory, then why didn't you use your magical calming abilities to will him to leave her alone?" _

_ I take a deep breath, allow a tear to roll down my cheek, and step forward with my hands raised in surrender. "I concede. I did not do all I could have in this situation, and great harm could have been prevented had I-" _

_ My hands are almost on their shoulders when Barry glides back and Jade snatches my wrist, twisting it and holding it beside our faces as she glowers pricking, prodding needles into my eyes. _

_ "And if you so much as think about using your power to make us sympathize with your conniving ass, I will put you through the fucking wall."  _

_ She finally releases my wrist and takes a step back to rejoin Barry. His collected expression has returned, only this time with ardent resolve. _

_ "There is a young woman downstairs who is probably on death's door by now," he states evenly, "and since you all seem to blame us for her pain, we believe it's only fair if we tend to her wounds." _

_ They pivot in unison and stride out to the stairs, leaving the rest of us to glare until fires set. Only, I'm not so sure all of the fires are on them. _

_ I must remedy this immediately, and so I turn to reunite with my beloved family. _

The thought of moving made Casey want to die. Thinking in general made her want to die, if only because the only thoughts that presented themselves to her were the raw, stabbing memories of what she had experienced. Even her sobs, the only way she knew she was still breathing, were a source of pain as her bruised and gashed body trembled with mortal terror. Her tear-filled eyes drifted around the room.

There was still a vast empty space where the flowers had sat, which were John's new target of aggression as he audibly stomped out the fireball in the backyard. The door was wide open, but the thought of going downstairs again...especially if he came back inside soon…

She coughed a couple drops of blood onto the sheet in front of her and winced at the agitation it posed to her bruised, raspy throat. She really wanted to sneak down to the office, call the police, call Kevin…

**_Slam!_ **

The loud closing of the side door put an end to that plan.  _ He won't stop, not tonight. He'll think I haven't learned if I'm up and walking. _

Her options were slim and unfavorable, but the pain was too severe for her to fall asleep. Coupled with the relentless return of the memories from when she had gone unconscious, her choices became narrower and narrower until a switch flipped within her.

_ But you were doing so well. _

_ Just this one last time. No more pain after that. _

Casey gingerly inched toward the edge of the bed, wincing and wheezing with every tiny motion, and roughly pushed herself up in a sitting position with both arms. She rested her feet on the cold, welcoming floor, gasped as she stood and tottered, and limped for the bathroom connected to her room.

The mirror was what caught her eye first, and if her arms hadn't been so battered, she would have prodded at each facial injury. Both eyes were black, several teeth were cracked, an array of finger marks littered her neck, and a large gash ran across her forehead.

_ Get on with it _ , she told herself, and turned so she wouldn't have to look at herself any longer. With a hand gliding over the wall to steady herself, she took one step, then another, and finally reached the shower and stepped inside, drawing the thick curtain behind her.

Within minutes, the hot water steamed up the small room, but the pain of the blistering heat wasn't enough.

She reached for the razor in the basket beside her and removed the blade. Her fingertips were sliced in the process, but she didn't care anymore.

The pain was searing as she carved x-shaped gashes into her wrists and felt the hot water sting them. The promise they held in her mind, though---that they were just one more trial to endure before she could escape her living hell---urged her onward. When her work was finished, she slammed the blade down on the rim of the shower basin and watched as blood swirled toward the drain, slowly losing consciousness.

Casey raised her head up when her vision reached a blurry precipice and saw that the curtain was open before her, and a young woman was standing before her, staring and weeping. The woman was definitely not Miss Patricia, as she had golden blonde hair in a beehive hairdo, black eyeliner and red lipstick, and a baby blue pin up dress with a halter neck and a floral skirt. Her nails were painted to match, with two shorter than the rest on each hand, and she turned around and called out to someone.

"Barry, she's in here! We need to help her up!"

Casey barely heard the footsteps that echoed from behind the woman, and she was soon joined by a young man, probably the same age as the woman in the blue dress. His short black hair was slicked back, and his makeup matched hers, though his nails were all short and painted black. He wore a white, short-sleeved dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the top, a pale pink scarf, and high-waisted black pants. Tears sprang from his eyes almost immediately, and he reached around his companion to shut off the water. 

"I'll look for bandages," she stated, voice choked by tears, before turning and rummaging through the cabinets. The man, Barry, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around both her arms, applying pressure as the woman searched frantically. He lifted Casey out of the shower and carried her motionless body back out to her bed.

"...Your shirt."

Barry turned to look at the girl and gently caressed her cheek with his first two fingers. "What was that, sweetheart?"

"I g-g-g-g-... blood… your shirt."

More tears streamed down his face as he gave her a comforting smile. "Don't worry about it, I can make a new one. Are you...are you Casey?"

She nodded slightly, her eyes fluttering open and closed.

"Good, good. Stay awake. Honey, my name is Barry. My friend's name is Jade. We're going to patch you up, okay? Do you like drawing?"

She nodded again, forcing her eyes to stay open but too weak to say another word. Finally, Jade emerged from the bathroom with a roll of gauze, a washcloth, and a bottle of peroxide.

"Give her something to bite down on," she instructed Barry. "We can't risk the owner coming in if she screams."

He looked around the room frantically, found nothing, and reluctantly removed the scarf from his neck before stuffing it into her mouth. With a whispered sorry, he gently ran his hand over her pale form as Jade poured peroxide onto a cloth and ran it over the deep gashes in Casey's wrists.

Casey cried out in pain, but the scarf muffled it as intended, and before long the gauze was wrapped around the fresh wounds. The pair's attention was then turned to the rest of her beaten body. Jade undertook the same process with the cut on her forehead while Barry ran downstairs to pull as many bags of frozen vegetables from the freezer as possible. He returned swiftly and quietly, and the frigid bags were placed all over her body and on her forehead.

"Her ribs feel like they're cracked," Jade informed him. Barry ran a hand over her midsection and swore under his breath.

"We can't do anything about that," he mumbled. "We'll just have to ice her for an hour, flip her over for another hour, and clothe her. It's all we can do."

"Barry," Jade hissed, tears pouring down her face, "we need to call a hospital. I can impersonate her, and-"

"And what? Risk her getting beaten even worse when the owner turns the ambulances away? No. Just...get some rest. I'll get her down to sleep."

Jade still shook hysterically, but she strode out of the room. Barry shut the door behind her and positioned the desk chair so it lifted the doorknob. Finally, he took a seat on the bed next to Casey and ran a hand through her hair.

"You'll be okay," he murmured, pulling the balled-up scarf from her mouth. Casey gagged, and a couple more drops of blood flew out from her broken teeth. "We'll have to do something to fix that beautiful smile, yeah? You said you like to draw?"

Casey nodded sleepily, and the relatively renewed color in her face alleviated his fear of her drifting off, so he continued. "I like to draw, too. I'm a fashion designer, and…"

Sleep took the girl shortly after, and Barry kept watch until the sun rose.


	26. Lovely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Thought I found a way, thought I found a way out. But you never go away, so I guess I gotta stay now."
> 
> Particular TW for disordered eating and emetophobia

**_Knock knock knock!_ ** "Casey-bear! Time to get up for school!"

The slamming and shouting at her bedroom door jarred Casey awake, and for the first time since moving into the house, she found her bedroom door closed. Her chair was in the center of the room, but she wrote it off as something that happened... _ Something...last night… _

Her head pounded and she felt sick to her stomach, but not so much that she was willing to excessively agitate her sore limbs by sprinting to the bathroom. She reached over to her nightstand to check her phone…

_ Where's my phone? _

And then the memories flooded her mind. And she had to straggle to the bathroom so she could throw up as she remembered what John did. What she had survived. What she had almost forced herself to forget forever.

And then, as she stood up, she saw the bandages on her wrist, adorned with x-shaped patches of dried blood.

And finally, she looked in the mirror.

Her eyes were thrown first to the bandage on her forehead, but she didn't dare peel back any gauze. She remembered the peroxide too vividly, remembered as Miss Patricia…

_ That wasn't Miss Patricia. The man she was with...Barry...her name was Jade. So where was Miss Patricia? _

It didn't matter. She was now faced with the monumental task of making herself look presentable, but she couldn't bear to shower. Simply looking at the curtain again, seeing the place in which she nearly died, made her want to retch and sob until she couldn't move, and the thought of looking at her body in this state made her skin crawl.

So she set to work on her makeup.

Casey blended the foundation over the multitude of bruises and painted it onto the gauze, not stopping until the bottle was empty and the bandage was somewhat camouflaged with her skin. The bruises on her eyes were still dark beneath the makeup, but she could pass them off as not having enough sleep.

_ That lie is going to have to take me through the whole day,  _ she thought as she noticed how pale her skin was and how frazzled she appeared.

Next was her hair, and seeing the small patches where some had been ripped out felt like another punch to the jaw. And as she physically felt this sensation, she opened her mouth to catch a glimpse of her surely broken teeth.

Her mouth held six total casualties, but only one of them was visible from the front.  _ Not that I feel like smiling. Or seeing people. Or existing. God, do I really have to do this again?  _ She skipped brushing her teeth and fished a hair tie out of the bottom of her beauty bag, hoping that tying her hair back would conceal the damage to it.

This revealed more finger marks toward the back of her neck, and she sighed as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Casey finally realized that she was wearing pajamas, and she limped back out to her room as confusion clouded her mind yet again.  _ I didn't change clothes...did I? _

_ It doesn't matter. You need to find something that will cover everything. _

First, she changed into some jeans, opting to pull the trigger on exposing her legs to the cold morning air. Maneuvering the fabric of both pairs of pants over her swollen ankle proved to be quite laborious, but she was finally able to outfit herself with the loosest jeans she owned. Next were her shirts, but even touching her chest sent swords of shooting pain through her torso. She gingerly unbuttoned the shirt of her pajamas and let it fall to the floor. One long-sleeve shirt was added, then a second, then a zip-up hoodie, a flannel, and finally an oversized sweatshirt. The body heat the layers trapped made her stomach churn sickly once again, but she felt protected from anyone's eyes, including her own as she contemplated her injuries.

"Casey! Hurry up!"

Casey whipped her head to her bedroom door in terror, then hastily finished her routine. Socks and sneakers were added to the outfit at last, and she crammed her school supplies, which were strewn over one corner of the room, into the bag stowed under her desk. Finally, she took a deep, suffocating breath and did her best to shuffle out of her room without limping.

Seeing John waiting by the side door as usual, breakfast sandwiches in hand, inspired a dull fury within her. She was too weak to lunge at him and give him even the slightest taste of his own medicine, and even if she were in full health...she wouldn't want to gamble on being in this state again.

Neither said a word on the way to school, and Casey refused to eat due to both exhaustion and mouth pain.

"Aren't you going to eat, Casey-bear?" he asked from the driver's seat. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

She shook her head, but he was displeased with her lack of a verbal response. "Casey, eat."

Slowly unwrapping the foil, she stared down at the sandwich and thought she was going to vomit into her lap. After a moment, she hoarsely whispered, "I can't."

"Why not?"

No reason she could give him would be good enough. If she said she were sick, he would claim eating would settle her stomach. If she said her mouth hurt, he would chide her for being ornery the prior night and say she deserved whatever lesson she learned. And if she said she didn't want anything he had to give, she would have been tossed out of the moving truck. Considering her options, she kept silent and was grateful that he merely huffed and continued to drive.

When they pulled into the school driveway, John turned to look at her with a stern expression. She didn't return the favor, only peering at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Casey," he began, "I want you to know that I love you, and I don't want you getting tangled up with that piece of shit again, okay?"

Casey clenched her jaw and winced at the impact on her broken teeth.

"I mean it. I discipline you because I care about you. Have a good day, alright?"

She turned to glower at him, but the only emotion that came through on her battered face was sorrow. Collecting her bag from the floor, she shoved the door open with her shoulder, exited, and slammed the door.

Kevin made eye contact with John, who sat in his idling truck and glared at the young man, daring him to approach Casey as she limped toward the front door. He felt helpless as she passed, wanting to assist her as she stumbled forth but refusing to be the cause of another incident. When she disappeared into the school, John drove off, and Kevin felt a torrent of ice wash through him as he ran after her.

When he finally caught up, she was slowly shrugging off her backpack and cringing with each shift further down her arms. One of her feet was held above the floor, and she supported herself with a hand rested cautiously on the locker's frame. Her appearance, even from the back, was extremely disheveled, and he could see a series of small bruises on the nape of her neck.

"Casey!"

She froze as he strode up to her, refusing to turn, refusing to face him, refusing to make what had happened seem real to anybody else, especially someone who could and would retaliate against John at the drop of a hat.

He rested his hand an inch above hers and repeated, now whispering, "Casey?"

Her eyes welled up again, but she had lost all of the energy she needed to even break down. Casey cautiously twisted to meet his worried gaze, breathing more shallowly as she jostled her rib injury. He found her eyes even more hollow than the prior night when they had been discovered, to the point that he wondered if she knew he was real. The makeup on her face would have fooled most other people, save for the raised area where she was obviously concealing a bandage; he knew too painfully well what a black eye looked like when it was covered up, and the presence of two further sunk the pit in his stomach. She seemed like a ghost, a shadow of the girl he held in his arms the prior night.

"Casey," he whispered, the deep concern inspiring tears in his own eyes, "c-can I touch you? Just um, just your hair?"

Casey wanted nothing more than to just collapse into his arms, but she didn't want any of the repercussions that may come. John would surely call the school and leave instructions for them to be separated, and he would surely inquire as to whether the pair so much as looked at each other during the day. She broke eye contact, slid down to the floor, and unzipped her backpack to start shoving books into the bottom of her locker.

"Casey," he murmured, "talk to me, I'm worried."

Not a word escaped her mouth, but the squatting position made her dizzy. Her head nodded up and down, and when she felt her body fall, she reached out for the locker door. Her stabilizing grip made her wrist throb, but it was better than agitating her many concussions even further.

"Casey!" Kevin cried out under his breath as he caught the shoulder closest to him. She eventually returned to her senses and tried to push herself off the floor with little success. Her wrists burned with every little exertion of pressure. He wanted to hold her, but triggering her with any contact would have only worsened the bleak situation. This was already demonstrated by her flinching as he guided her back to her feet. 

"Casey," he pleaded again, "talk to me-"

"What is there to talk about?" she spat out in the midst of a sob. She cautiously gathered the books she would need for her first few classes, closed the door, and met his eyes with a glance resembling that of a kicked puppy. "You saw how he rushed you out, why don't you do the math?"

She began to limp away, but he blocked her path and, against his vow to not disturb her, instinctively reached for her wrist. Upon feeling his fingers lace around her wrist, despite all of her layers and his soothing intention, pain jolted up her arm, and all of her books crashed to the floor.

"Shit," Kevin exhaled as he bent down to gather everything into a neat pile. "I'm sorry, I swear, I didn't mean to touch you, I won't do it again-"

"Just stop, okay?" she muttered. His gaze drifted upward, and he saw her hands held defensively in front of her chest. He caught a glimpse of her broken teeth, and the ripping in half of his heart was complete. "Please...just don't talk to me until I talk to you."

Casey pivoted and darted for the bathroom, while Kevin stood and called after her. He then realized, as he stood in the middle of her hallway with her books, that everyone had been watching. Hardening his disposition against the bystanders, he went the other way to drop off her books in case she had any intention of going to class that day.

She didn't arrive at her first class until halfway through, and while the teacher didn't know any details, Kevin had threatened to anonymously sell him out to the school board as a prior customer if Casey received any trouble for skipping. She didn't speak at all in any class, and even at lunch, she opted to hide away in the library and skip eating entirely. Kevin spent the meal worrying himself sick over her, and to both of their dismay, Mr. Dean forced them "by administrative order" to take seats on opposite sides of the room.

Their only true interaction after that morning was a shared gaze as they parted ways for their lockers. She could see his panic at losing her once again to her monstrous uncle. He could see her sorrow at surrendering herself to the abyss once again. Neither of them, however, could see that they could never truly return to the normalcy they sought the prior night.


	27. Milk And Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Can't take it anymore, need to put you to bed. Sing you a lullaby where you die at the end."
> 
> Particular TWs for disordered eating, alcohol use, supernatural elements, and graphic violence

The drive home was completely silent. Casey remembered how several classmates did a double take at the bandage on her forehead, especially as her already flimsy disguise for it wore off, but now, she allowed herself to lean it on the truck window, which was warmed by the spring sunlight. Upon returning home, she continued her silence and stumbled into the kitchen to start on her homework. Writing was particularly difficult, as her hand was still trembling with strain and fear. She ensured her fright didn't show excessively on her face, however, as John, lacking appointments for the rest of the afternoon, set to work cooking a grand dinner. Whenever he asked her to help, she obeyed, though she hesitated with an unseen glower for a moment before moving and took a long time to hobble around to the kitchen. "I just want to treat my special Casey-bear with a proper meal," he justified to nobody in particular. It only made her appetite wane even further, despite the fact that she hadn't eaten all day.

This combination led him to angrily watch as she spent the entire meal pushing the food around on her plate. His scrutinous eyes stressed her even more, and the thought of chewing inspired pain, the thought of swallowing inspired pain, the thought of filling her stomach inspired pain, until she couldn't handle the tension anymore and rested the fork on the countertop.

"Casey, I worked hard on that," John grumbled. "We worked hard on that. You don't want it to go to waste, do you?"

She didn't speak, didn't move, and he snapped as anticipated. "That's it, if you're pulling this childish silent treatment bullshit again, then you'll be treated like a child! Go to your room!"

She slowly looked up to glare into his eyes, eased herself off the stool, and scooped up her things from the floor before limping off to the stairs. She didn't stop trudging up when she heard him scrape all of the uneaten food into the disposal, nor when she heard the sound of ceramic shattering against a wall, though she did flinch at the latter. Once securely in her room, she leaned the desk chair upward against the doorknob, as she had seen one of her alleged nurses do the prior night. 

Casey didn't open her backpack to continue her homework. If she could have, she would have given her entire backpack the same brutal punishment her flowers had been afforded. She kept the lights off, as their glare scorched her bleary, tear-dried eyes. Finally, she found herself curled into a fetal position in the center of her bed, hoping that shrinking in on herself would dampen the dull roar throughout her body. While her ribs were agitated, everything else welcomed the soft pillow of her many layers. Every thundering step John took up and down the upstairs hallway made her wince from anxiety, and she knew that even her makeshift lock wouldn't be able to stop him if he didn't stop pacing like a wolf soon.

He went back downstairs to drink for a couple hours, and Casey continued her task of staring blankly at the wall and listening for a potential threat. At what she guessed was nine o'clock based on the dimming sunlight that leaked from behind her displaced bookshelf, she heard him stagger up the stairs and into his bedroom, slamming the door. And at long last, her body couldn't handle the pressure anymore, and she blacked out.

Sleep only claimed her for an hour and a half, and she found her eyelids drifting open in the nearly pitch black room. Only ribbons of moonlight bled in from behind the bookshelf, and she cautiously rubbed her bruised eyes. Accepting that the pain would be too great for her to fall asleep, she inched off the bed and hobbled toward her bathroom.

She flipped the switch, opened her medical cabinet, and found the single Tylenol she was allowed to keep for emergency reasons. John had learned his lesson after the last time he chose to defile her, and so would routinely raid her cabinet for any excess painkillers. Swallowing the tiny pill was difficult, but the cool water she washed it down with was a welcome relief. Finally, she turned to limp back to bed.

And stopped in her tracks.

In her room, directly in her line of sight from the bathroom door, the light revealed her chair laying by the wall and the door, removed from its hinges, leaning against her desk. It made no sense to her.  _ The chair would still be directly in the moonlight if it was like that before I got up, and...I definitely would have heard that. _

"Uncle John?" she whispered hoarsely into the room.  _ If he had any intention of attacking me, I'm basically a sitting duck. _

_ Turn off the light. _

The voice this thought was spoken in was not her own, nor Miss Patricia's nor Jade's nor Barry's nor any of the multitude of other voices. It was low, hissing, growling, and it made her head throb.

"Wh-who's there?" she choked out.

_ Turn off the light. _

Her head throbbed more at the repeated order, and her hand, trembling with mortal terror, reached cautiously for the light switch. The bathroom light flicked off, and she was plunged into near-total darkness once again.

Except for the ribbon of moonlight.

This revealed a tall, black form, tall enough that its head grazed the room's relatively high ceiling, hands and feet composed of claws and talons, a flash of white teeth glistening at her, perfectly displayed despite the lack of a good light source.

_ Hello. _

**_Flick. Flick. Flickflickflickflickflick._ **

No matter how many times Casey flipped the light switch, the light would not return. Tears streamed down her face as she gazed at the horrific figure opposite the room from her. It did not move, only examined her with eyes she could not see.

_ Hello, young one. _

"It's you," she whispered. "You're the...the Beast."

_ Rather dehumanizing, isn't it? _

Every message from the creature made her head pound, to the point she wanted to keel over, but she was frozen in frightened awe.

"But...you're of...of Satan…"

_ I see the ward mother has imparted the wisdom of this house properly. _

"P-please don't hurt me…"

_ Child, you have been through more than enough. I shan't bring any harm upon you. _

Casey was suddenly furious at the sinister creature. "Then why did you feed on John's anger last night?" she spat.

_ If only I could have, for I would have eaten plentifully. _

"What do you mean?"

_ I do not have much time. The ward mother's psychic acolyte, Kat, has enabled me to converse with you undetected. If you wish to know why I revealed myself to you this evening, please emerge from the bath chamber. _

Casey weighed her options.  _ Refusing may mean death, which...but maybe I should. What's the worst that could happen? I've already been haunted by this bastard for two years. Maybe it's all just an elaborate nightmare, anyway. _

She stepped forward from the bathroom doorway.

_ A wise choice. _

He approached the shaking girl and wrapped His arms around her, scooping her up into a bridal carry and turning back to the door. With long, striding steps, He glided to the stairs and leapt down them in a single, graceful bound. A light flicked on in the kitchen once His feet touched the floor, and He stood Casey up, holding her hand and guiding her toward the bar.

"Why are you visiting me tonight?"

_ Because as delicious as feasting on your uncle's rage would have been,  _ he stated cryptically as he quietly swung open the cabinet and removed a bottle of whiskey,  _ yours would be a far more bountiful meal. _

She examined Him as He moved and communicated to her. Now that she was finally seeing Him in proper light, she realized that He did have eyes; they were just dilated to complete darkness. "What do you mean? And why are you getting drinks?"

_ Because I know what you've been planning all day,  _ He prodded as He placed the open bottle of whiskey in front of her,  _ and I know that, even if you were concerned about the risk to your own life that mixing drugs could pose, which I assure you will be minuscule based on the single pitiful pill you took, you're going to want a drink before you go through with it. _

"Oh yeah? And if you're all-knowing, tell me: what exactly do you think I'm planning?"

His mouth widened into a spiny grin, and he reached his extended arm for the knife block on the counter behind him and removed the longest, sharpest knife from its slot before resting it on the counter in front of her.

_ Truth be told, there were two options,  _ He continued.  _ Both of them ended with a knife to somebody's throat. The only difference was whose. But, I do implore you to take a couple of things into consideration. _

She glared at Him, knowing her anger only encouraged Him but imagining she had any shred of power in her predicament as He forced her to lay out all of her cards on the table. "What would those be?"

_ You could find yourself in either a win-win or lose-lose situation. There's obviously the matter of whether or not I eat tonight, and we both know which I would infinitely prefer. But then, you're the one with the ability to act. You can win, and finally be free of the pain I have had much displeasure in watching befall you, all while I starved because I saw this exact moment, this exact opportunity for myself within your fate, capable of occurring without my meddling...or, you can lose, by showing that you couldn't handle the pain and forcing your beloved to live in a world without you. _

They stared at each other as Casey started chugging from the bottle. The whiskey burned her throat and made her tear up until she couldn't bear it and had to replace it on the counter. She gagged and reached for the knife, turning it over and watching the blade glint in the light.

_ The choice is yours. _

This final statement echoed in her mind, and when she looked up to her companion, He had vanished. Casey stood up from the bar and darted her eyes around, searching for Him but seeing absolutely nobody else in the downstairs area. Finally, she examined the knife.

_ What would Kevin do? _

_ Exactly what he already did. _

She gripped the handle tighter and gazed up the stairs. The door she sought silently glided open, seemingly on its own, though she was certain He was goading her. But she didn't need any persuasion, not now, not as she strode to the stairs and tiptoed up.

Entering his room, she felt like she had stepped into a lion's den, he could wake up if she made even the slightest noise, and then she would have been better off choosing the other option. She slowly approached his sleeping form, running her thumb over the handle as she mustered her strength. He seemed so at peace, so different from the monster she knew.

_ The real monster in this house. _

Before she knew it, the sharp edge of the blade was hovering over his throat, and she stared intently, waiting for him to wake up so she wouldn't feel so cowardly, so she would be able to see him off with dignity as she stared into the eyes of the man who had likely hoped to do this to her several times over.

Casey dragged the blade deeply across John's throat. And as the blood began to erupt from his arteries, splashing onto her face and staining her clothing and the sheets, reality hit her like a freight train.

_ I just murdered someone. _

The bloody knife was slammed onto the bedside table, and she sprinted out of the room, slamming the door behind her, tears mixing with the red stains on her skin.


	28. Talk Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I wanna sleep next to you, but that's all I wanna do right now, so come over now and talk me down."
> 
> Particular TWs for alcohol use, scars, and gore

**_Bzzzt-bzzzt! Bzzzt-bzzzt! Bzzzt-bzzzt!_ **

Kevin's eyes drifted open into a scowl as his phone buzzed on the bedside table. The glow of the screen lit up the entire room, and peering at the time from his distorted angle revealed it was around eleven o'clock. He planted his elbow and propped himself up on the mattress to read the contact name.

**Cooke Psychiatric**

_ What? Why? It's the middle of the night! What's John so worried about? _

He lifted the phone and took the call.

"Hello?"

"...Kevin?"

He froze at the sound of Casey's trembling voice. "Casey? What happened? Did he hurt you again? I can call the police-"

"No! Don't! Please!"

Kevin had now fully woken up, but he was perplexed. "Casey, it's fine, it's fine, I won't call the police. But...why are you calling? Seriously, you're scaring me."

She breathed silently for a moment before finally saying, "I need you to come over."

"What?" 

"I need you to come over. Now. You can take the side door, I'll have it unlocked."

"Okay. What's this about?"

"...Not over the phone. But I...I did something bad, a-and-"

Her voice was shaking again, and he could hear her sobbing through the phone.

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Th-thank you."

**_Beeeeeeeeeeeeep._ **

Kevin stared down at the red phone screen, which read  **Call Ended,** in concerned silence. His mind raced with the possible implications of her call before briefly converging on one idea.

_ No. She wouldn't...she would never do something like that. _

_ Then why did she call you? YOU? _

_ Because she's in trouble and she needs my help. _

He slid out of bed, rubbed his eyes, and reached for a pair of jeans on the floor. Once changed, he shoved his phone and wallet into his pockets, slid on a pair of shoes, and snatched up his jacket before disappearing into the night.

Casey paced around the kitchen with the lights on and the shades drawn. Her hair dripped water onto the tiles, as she had already taken time to scrub off and change her bandages. The drops that streamed down her back chilled her exposed shoulders. Over her undergarments, she wore only an oversized T-shirt that... _ he... _ had purchased for her when they first moved to Philadelphia. Now, it was the only thing she had that could help her explain to Kevin what had happened. He would be able to see the full carnage from after he had been forced to leave.

Her teeth chattered from the cool night air, but her busted teeth, now swelling her jaw, made the rapid movement painful. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to both warm herself and massage her cuts and bruises. Every so often, she would take another sip of whiskey, but it did nothing to dampen the roaring within her own head. Several voices were yelling in confusion at her current panicked state, but none of them mentioned the scene upstairs.

_ Undetected. Huh. I'll have to meet this woman, Kat, soon. _

She would occasionally pull back the window shades to see if Kevin had arrived, but she didn't expect him to show up. He understood her, so she guessed that he might deduce the nature of her call and choose to steer clear. She prayed he would steer clear, because not even she knew entirely what had happened. They were tangled with something greater than either of them, greater than their own motivations.

_ Then why even call him? Why not turn yourself in, like he had? The police will see your bruises, and even if a rape kit shows nothing, you can just spin a story, alter the truth a little so you don't implicate Kevin in any of this and put him in any separate trouble. _

She had no good answer, and any further prayers would be futile. Her next glimpse through the window revealed a figure striding up the driveway from the street. With her back pressed to the door, she waited.

**_Knock knock knock!_ **

Casey shuffled out of the way and opened the door only a crack. Her eyes trailed from the floor upward until she met that familiarly tumultuous shade of blue. She opened the door wider, reached for his arm, and tugged him inside.

"Whoa, hey!" Kevin blurted out as he was nearly tossed into the room. Casey slammed the door behind him and frantically locked it as tightly as possible. Once every lock had been engaged, she turned back around and leaned against it, making frenzied eye contact with him.

She was a sight to behold, a horrific outline of a human, as Kevin watched her. He could see her unprotected swollen ankle, the various new marks littering her skin, and a couple of the patches where she was missing hair. The picture only became worse when she turned around; half of her face was swollen, and gauze was wrapped halfway up her forearms from her wrists. Every breath she took carried the notes of a wheeze, which was worsened by how she trembled. But the most striking part was her state of dress. There were only two occasions he had seen her in anything less than two layers that fully covered her arms, including his memories of how she assumed her usual outfit when he had visited her here, in her own home. Wearing only a T-shirt, shaking like a half-drowned rat...something had gone horribly wrong.

"...Casey?"

She hastily hobbled toward him and threw her arms around him, whispering apologies as he kept his arms stretched out before him. Cautiously, he returned the embrace and felt his own eyes welling up with tears. He could tell she was holding herself just slightly separated from him, but upon first impact, something in her chest felt out of place.

Casey wept into his shoulder for five minutes, allowing her senses to dissolve and herself to fade, if only for a little while until she had to face the truth, if only for a little hope that she wasn't actually experiencing this precarious situation. Finally, she whispered to him, though her sobs made her stutter.

"C-c-can I wear...can I wear your j-jacket? I'm s-s...so cold…"

A tear rolled down his cheek, and he shrugged off the jacket. She took it from him and slipped into it before meeting his terror-filled gaze.

"Casey," he whispered, bringing his fingertips up to one of her blackened eyes to brush away the tears, "did he hurt you again? I won't let him get away with it."

A sob that in any less terrible of a situation would have been a laugh escaped her, and she stepped away and raised her hand to cover her mouth. Eyes shut, she shook her head.

The bandages on her wrists caught his eye again. "Casey...can I look at your wrists?"

She hesitated for a moment before extending her hands to him, which he grasped gingerly. His fingers crawled up the backs of her arms, and he grazed over the bandages with his thumbs. Even the light pressure made her wince, and he ceased the motion, shifting both hands to the dressing on her right wrist. Cautiously, he slid a fingernail under the adhesive and started to peel it away. Casey hissed as the cold air stung the healing gash, and Kevin couldn't keep himself from crying.

"...Did you…"

"Yes. Last night. B-but…that's n-n...not why I called you here."

The sorrow on his face as his eyes drifted toward hers drove a sword through her heart, and she pressed the gauze back over the cuts. She grabbed his own wrist and guided it up to eye level, twisted her wrist until their palms were touching, and laced her fingers between his.

"What's this about?" he implored once again. "Please, anything you need, I can help."

Casey took a few deep breaths and broke eye contact to gaze at the stairs.  _ Now or never. _

She brushed past him and pulled him along. He offered to help her walk, noticing the severity of her limp, but she refused until she tripped halfway up. Slinging her arm over his shoulder and snaking his arm around her waist, he assisted her in finishing the climb and began to guide her to her room.

"No," she coughed out. "Go the other way."

He darted a puzzled glance to her before turning his head the other way. There was another doorway, the same size as her own, the same distance from the stairs, but with the door shut tight. They proceeded toward it until Kevin reached down for the knob, when Casey threw her arm off his shoulders and shrank back. He twisted to meet her eyes, alarm plastered on his face.

"Casey?" he asked. "What room is this?"

She bit the inside of her lip and brought her hands up, clutching her elbows and covering her stomach. "It's, um…" Casey started to speak, sniffed, and looked down at her feet. "I d-don't want to go in there again...but I th-th-think you'll know when you see it."

He took a deep breath and gazed at her with stern worry. "Casey, what's behind this door?"

"...What I did. Or...think I did. God," she wheezed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I don't know what's in my own head anymore, but...please. Just look."

His hand drifted up to the knob, and he rotated back toward the door. Staring at the grains in the wood, he felt something ominous emanating from behind it, but he needed to see what had frightened her.

Kevin twisted the knob and pushed through the door.

The room was black, so he flipped the switch by the door and found himself in the master bedroom. The king-sized bed tipped him off first.

And the body of John Cooke laying in it confirmed it.

"Doctor Cooke?" he whispered, inching closer. A few steps further, and then he noticed the red. The red chasm on his neck, the red pool around his head, the red splatters on the bed, the red knife on the nightstand. His eyes widened in horror as he paced forward and reached for the man's wrist.

_ Stone cold. _

And the next emotion that overtook him led his tears to dry up.

Awe.

Awe at Casey for her strength.

_ But she doesn't see it that way. _

Kevin took a look back out the door and found that Casey had sunk to the floor, trembling and heaving in a fetal position. He cautiously retreated to her hysterical form, slowly stepping forward until he stood over her.

Then he dropped to his knees and took her into his arms.

He felt like a weighted blanket, grounding her as her head spiraled with no end in sight, and she reached up and gripped him for dear life. She knew saying sorry would be useless, but no other word crossed her mind. With a kiss to her cheek, he whispered, "Don't be," and ran his fingers through her hair.

Kevin waited five, ten, fifteen minutes before daring to move beyond shifting so he sat on the floor, his lap forming a nest for her. Casey's face was buried into his neck in an effort to dodge the gruesome sight in the next room, but he had a full view of the corpse, and he felt no sympathy for the psychiatrist. Eventually, she exhaled and looked Kevin directly in the eyes, her own overflowing with regret.

"I shouldn't have brought you into this," she huffed, leaning her forehead on his. "I should have called the cops directly. You were doing so well, and now because of me-"

He interrupted her with a kiss and brought his hands up to hold her swollen jaw. When he broke away from her, her eyes contained pleas for him to break character, to recognize what she did for the sheer malice it was. Instead, he gave her a sad smile.

"Do you know why I called the police?" he murmured.

"What?"

"When I killed my mother...do you know why I actually called the police?"

She stared at him in indignant wonder and shook her head. When he continued, he wiped away her tears with his thumb and gently stroked her inflamed face.

"I turned myself in because I had nowhere else to go. I didn't trust any of my friends as far as I could throw them, and I knew none of them would help because none of them would believe my motivation. But...you called me here because you know I know what to do. I've been here before. And-"

**_Pop!_ **

The sound of a champagne cork rang out downstairs, and both of them abruptly turned to look at the stairs. Kevin slowly rested Casey on the floor and brought his legs beneath him, then took her into a bridal carry and crept downstairs.

Once firmly on the ground floor, Casey squirmed until he let her go and limped into the kitchen. An open bottle of champagne and a half-empty glass rested on the bar, and she began to sicken and tear up again from looking at it. She grabbed the glass and chucked it at the living room wall, causing it to shatter upon impact with the exact same spot that her phone had been thrown at.

New fright had shot down Kevin's spine at the sight of the glass. He had seen the whiskey open on the counter when he came in, but not the champagne.  _ And no glass had been out. _

_ Who else is here? _

Cautiously, he asked, "Casey?"

She ran her fingers through her scalp and pressed against her temples as she turned to look at him. "What?"

_ Is somebody else here?  _ "How much did you drink before I came over?"

She shook her head and spat profanities at the ground while stomping. When she finally let go of her head and returned to looking at him, she answered, "I didn't have any champagne. One of the others must have poured it."

"Others?" He whipped around to look but saw nobody. "Casey, did you call anybody else?"

She gaped at him before pinching the bridge of her nose and sniffling again. "I really don't expect you to understand. That day in the attic...you couldn't see them, either."

"See who?"

She stumbled forward into him again and mumbled into his shirt. "The dreams. The nightmares. The people in them. And I'm so scared John's going to join them. Please, I'm so tired, just stop asking about them, please…"

He stared straight ahead, eyes wide with terror, but calmingly murmured "of course" and stroked her hair.

Finally, she whispered into his ear, "Can you stay the night?"

A slight pause. "Yeah. We'll...we'll figure it all out in the morning."

Kevin helped Casey hobble up the stairs, made a detour to firmly shut the door to the master suite, and escorted her to bed. He laid down first, and she nestled herself beneath one of his arms, clutching him like a buoy as she felt herself sinking and trembling like a chihuahua despite his body heat and the fortifying jacket around her. Sleep didn't take him until she stopped quivering, and when he was certain that he wouldn't have to be her rock within the next few minutes, he fell into a light slumber.


	29. Bury A Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Calling security, keeping my head held down. Bury the hatchet or bury a friend right now."
> 
> Particular TWs for supernatural elements and violence

Kevin woke up to the sensation of being watched.

He could internally tell it was much earlier than his usual time.  _ Maybe three or four...it's so damn dark in here with that bookshelf over the window.  _ One of his arms snaked back over Casey's sleeping form and reached for his back pocket, seeking his phone. Turning on the screen, his suspicion was confirmed when  **3:13** was displayed, and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

_ Why is my skin crawling so much? _

He cast a glance down at Casey to ensure she wasn't sleeping with her eyes open, but the case was quite the opposite. Her eyes were clamped shut, and her face was buried into his neck. He recalled the attic, how it was just as dark and just as creepy, how she had panicked at every sight and sound, and how he didn't understand what she could possibly be seeing.

But when he laid his head back down to return to sleep, he understood. 

A woman was standing in the doorway, gazing sternly at the resting couple. He turned the screen to better illuminate her gaunt figure, and she held up a pale hand to shield her eyes from the unusually bright light. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight chignon, putting her inhumanly white skin and sternly dark eyes on full display. Her black petticoat billowed about her, and the bell sleeves and cravat on her matching blouse made her appearance that much more severe. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly at the young man.

“I certainly do not understand what the child sees in someone so uncouth as yourself,” she huffed at him as she took a single slow stride forward. He slithered a hand to Casey’s arm in order to jostle her awake, but she raised a scolding hand.

“Now now, young man,” the solemn woman continued. “She can’t see me right now. This is only us. I realize she would believe you if you informed her of this conversation, however...I believe we would both find it for the best to leave her out of this.”

“Who are you?” Kevin spat under his breath, scowling as threateningly as he could in his disoriented state at the intruder. He propped himself up and held his body over Casey’s sleeping form in defense.

A sly smirk blossomed on her face. “I am the boss of this house, and believe me when I say no secret slips past me. I know you’ve influenced the young lady into joining your escapades.”

The scowl spiraled into a glare of unrivaled menace. Kevin placed his phone face-down on the nightstand, shifted himself around Casey’s body, and approached the cryptic woman through the black room.

“You may be the boss, but that doesn’t mean I automatically have to treat you as such. Now, who are you, and what do you want from me?”

While her face only betrayed mild disturbance, she was deeply appalled by the young man. “Very well,” she sighed haughtily. “You shall call me Miss Patricia. I am speaking to you because, while I quite regret the consideration I’ve put into this based on your juvenile attitude...I’m here to help.”

“Yeah, well get in line,” he grumbled. “Do you always watch people when they sleep, or did you just decide that now was the prime time for some ghostly shit?”

“Bite your tongue!” she hissed. “There is a child present!”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Kevin whisper-yelled. “I’m sure you’re a hell of a lot better parent than the decomposing body in the next room, but I’m not standing for you treating her like a helpless baby. Go back to conjuring demons or whatever you do in that creepy-ass attic, we don’t need your help.”

He pivoted to stumble back to bed, but was halted by a scorching hand slamming onto his shoulder and spinning him to face the mysterious woman once again. He winced at the burn as it shot down his arm and opened his mouth to protest, but his throat was dry. He felt his pupils dilate even further in the dark as her face seemed to distort, becoming more resolute, more daunting.

And finally, he saw it. A small form clinging to her skirt, with curly red hair and a yellow sweater under blue overalls. And another, a tall, broad man standing sentry at the door, with glasses and neatly pressed attire. And past him, a couple of pairs of prying eyes from the hallway.

“Wh-what…”

“If you’ll accompany me to the kitchen, please,” she instructed with a sly smile as she retreated her hand and turned to exit. Though he felt as if he was gliding, he found himself following her down the stairs almost, but not quite, of his own volition.

“Take a seat,” Miss Patricia directed him, gesturing gracefully to a barstool. “I’ll get you some water.”

Kevin nodded weakly and landed on the stool, too delirious from the fire coursing through him to do much else. He could see several of whom he assumed were the dead and wished he were among them. Some watched as he suffered, others conducted their own hobbies.  _ So this is what that fever felt like for Casey. Good God, just give me some fucking water, I feel like I’m in hell. _

A glass was slid in front of him, and he eagerly accepted, hands trembling as he nearly drowned himself. With each gulp, another of the previously unseen inhabitants disappeared until finally, as he replaced the glass, the supposed boss was his only companion.

“If that’s your way of making me clean up my act around you,” he croaked out, eyes watering as he shot daggers from them, “then you better tell me what the fuck is going on. No games.”

“If you could keep the obscenities to a minimum, young man,” she sighed. “Under my watch, this is a Christian household.”

“Under your watch, the girl you’ve decided to reach out to for whatever reason was brutalized.”

“Do not criticize what you do not understand!” she snapped. Some of his fury faltered at seeing the composed woman lash out. Miss Patricia stood up and glowered down at him with narrowed eyes.

“This house has seen all,” she muttered, “all of the evil you and her have ever experienced, multiple times over, has been subjected to Satan’s Beast, and yet you speak as if I am the tormentor, as if I have not resisted His growing grip on this home, as if my motivation in reaching out to her was not to cleanse her soul so she may be either free or part of my blessed fellowship when she escapes her miserable life! I could not help her because I had a mutiny on my hands, and because the sacrifice I had to make in allowing events to play out as they may was due in no small part to the disturbance you’ve created in this home’s natural order.”

Kevin was dumbfounded. “I...caused a disturbance?”

She inhaled deeply and pinched her lips together. “Yes, in that your influence has driven a healing soul into the clutches of murder and debauchery. And so, you must clean up your mess.”

_ You must clean up your mess. You’re a worthless ingrate, Kevin Wendell Crumb. You’re a bad influence. You’re a heartless piece of shit. You don’t deserve to eat. I never wanted you, Kevin. _

The recollections of the years of verbal torment didn’t cloud his mind so much as they screeched in his ears. He watched her face harden by slight degrees, felt the shouts rise in volume by a decibel for each degree, until tears started to stream down his face and his knees buckled, bringing him to the floor.

Miss Patricia bent down slightly and whispered, in his mother’s voice,

“Clean up this mess you’ve made, Kevin Wendell Crumb.”

His ears rang as he buried his face into his arms, the voice still echoing even after it disappeared. Sobs shook his body as every horrid memory assaulted his mind, and he tumbled forward into the woman’s feet. At least, what he assumed would be her feet, as the cold tile floor before him was empty. Upon catching himself with his elbow, he whipped his head around to find her, but there was no sign of anyone. His breathing felt even more constricted than when he felt as if he was on fire.

And he knew.

Though he only had half the story, he knew the extent of her task in keeping the Beast at bay. The reason she needed to concern herself with mutiny in the first place. 

And he recognized the danger Casey was in if she walked a foot further in the poisonous house’s unholy halls.

Kevin reached a hand out to grip the nearest stool and pulled himself over the floor just enough to steady himself on one elbow. Retracting the outstretched arm and wiping it over his bleary eyes, he planted both hands firmly on the ground and eased to his feet.

_ Out of sight, out of mind.  _ While she certainly refused to look at her gruesome masterpiece, the knowledge of its existence certainly ate at her. So he knew that would be his first task.

He staggered to the broom closet in the hall leading to what he assumed was the office and flung one of the doors open before rummaging. A ton of cleaning supplies occupied the space, which he knew would be needed for the monumental task. However, his eyes were drawn to a much more valuable find: a box of yard-sized trash bags.

_ Exactly where this bastard belongs. _

Sliding on a pair of dishwashing gloves that had been draped over the bottles of chemicals, he pulled one bag from its box and strode up the stairs, through the shut door, up to the man’s body. Rigor mortis had set in, and though blood still trickled from his gashed neck, much of it had dried around the gory crevice. Cramming him and the stained bedding into a bag would be a definite challenge, but he had to try.  _ For Casey. _

He then noticed the baseball bat mounted on the wall above the bed. Most likely a limited edition item, judging by the signatures, he lifted it from its small rack and leaned it against the nightstand. Without another second of hesitation, he shuffled the open bag up the large man’s form, enveloping him like an amoeba until the tip of his head was covered. He shifted it off the bed and onto the floor, not cringing as he heard a bone crack. The bedding was bundled up and shoved deep into it next, and finally, the bag was tied. 

Kevin grabbed the bat.

_ That definitely looks like a body,  _ he thought.  _ But it won’t once I’m done. _

In an effort to thrust himself out of the dreadful memories that Miss Patricia had unearthed as he raised the bat over his head, he thought about the first time he had seen Casey’s scars. He remembered every one that had been there at that time. He remembered kissing every one until they only carried memories of joy, not pain or brutality.

_ Some things you fix with love, others require a bit of karma. _

Kevin internally pictured every scar he had worshipped on the beautiful body this despicable man had defiled and brought the bat down hard for each one. Once he had finished the list, he moved on to the new wounds from the weekend. He could have beaten the bag the whole night and not felt as if Casey had been afforded the vengeance she was owed.

Finally, he gripped the bag by the tied end, lifted, and jostled it. The shattered bones were loose enough to pass as actual garbage, and he topped off the disposal by popping the top off a bottle of cologne on the nightstand and pouring it over the black plastic.

The bag was hurled down the stairs before being dragged to a trash can outside. With the remains deposited, he was confident that they would be long out of dodge before it was discovered.

Kevin returned inside and remade the bed, retrieving the knife in the process. This was bleached, disinfected, and slid back into its proper place in the knife block.

The stove’s clock read  **5:00,** and Kevin dropped the gloves down the garbage disposal. The only thing left was to send out calls to patients for the week that the dear doctor was sick, that he would not be coming into work anytime soon. He retreated to the office to complete the final stage of the plot, masking his voice with a raspy, gruff facade of Dr. Cooke himself on each early-morning voicemail. As one final precaution, he printed off a sign explaining the illness, cursing the printer for being so noisy and sighing in relief when there was no movement upstairs. With this taped on the glass at the front door, he praised himself for a job well done.

Because internally, he knew that the normalcy they had promised each other could never happen then. And he was determined to remove any hindrance to an imitation of it. Determined to do anything to make Casey believe they would be okay.


	30. Miss Jackson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You move in circles, hoping no one’s gonna find out.”
> 
> Particular TWs for disordered eating and emetophobia

At eight o’clock, Casey woke up to the smell of bacon frying.

_ But it’s Tuesday...holy shit, did I oversleep? _

She jolted upright and darted her gaze every which way. Something wasn’t right in here, either. The door was off its hinges, though she slept through Uncle John’s usual shouts and inevitable tirade about her missing school. The bookshelf still blocked the window, but she had accustomed herself to it after his violent outburst.

Then she realized that she was wearing a jacket.

_ Kevin’s jacket. But he took it when he left Sunday night. _

And the memories of the previous night returned in a deluge. Casey threw off the jacket and scrambled out of bed, feeling ill and heading for the bathroom, but her swollen ankle tangled in the quilt, causing her to crash to the floor. As if the impact of her kneecap on the wooden floor wasn’t jarring enough, she threw her hands out instinctively to catch herself, which sent a bolt of pain straight through her wrists. She cried out, her eyes watered, and her hands retracted into her chest, which throbbed despite the gentleness with which she laid down on the floor. And yet, this only made her head hurt worse and her stomach turn tighter from her hangover, whiskey being the sole occupant of her stomach, so she reached out and continued to claw her way to the bathroom.

“Casey?” she heard Kevin yell from downstairs. As she threw her head over the toilet bowl, she heard the stairs creak as he rushed up to meet her before she started vomiting.  _ Too late.  _ As much as the whiskey had burned on the way down, it hurt worse as it came back up, especially without any food to accompany it. 

Kevin finally barreled through the door and rushed over to the bathroom. He gathered her hair from around her face with one hand and comfortingly placed the other on her upper back. When she was finished, she rested an arm at the back of the bowl and hung her head in shame, lacking even the water to make tears.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Can you look at me?”

She shook her head.

“Come on. Let me see that beautiful face.”

Casey huffed in exasperation, but she yielded. She twisted her aching neck to face him, suddenly self-conscious that she looked even worse than the prior night. He reached up to pull the hand towel off its rack and wiped it over her mouth, but she winced as it passed over her swollen jaw.

“Can I look at your teeth, please?”

She nodded and opened her mouth. The teeth in the back had caved inward, while the one closest to the front had snapped completely. Her face was swelling, and it was a wonder she could eat or speak at all.

_ Wait. _

He closed her mouth and cupped her face with his hands, staring sternly at her. “Casey, when was the last time you ate?” 

She remained silent and averted her eyes to the floor.

“Casey, have you had anything to eat or drink besides alcohol since Sunday night?”

After a moment of hesitation, she bit her lip, shut her eyes, and shook her head.

Kevin sighed, willing himself not to cry, to be strong so she didn’t have to. “Okay. Okay. We’ll have breakfast, we’ll talk this through. You’re safe, you’re all good.”

He scooped her up into another bridal carry and started for the stairs. When they reached the bar, he set her down on a stool and leaned her against the countertop before turning his attention back to the stove. In the time he spent upstairs, the bacon had charred on one side but otherwise cooked through, and he turned off the burner and scraped a few pieces onto a plate containing oatmeal and a spoon. This plate was rested in front of her, along with a glass of orange juice, before he gathered the rest of the bacon on a plate and sat beside her.

Casey didn’t touch any of her food, merely watched hollowly as Kevin ate and failed to quell the strain from sitting upright. This didn’t last long, though, as when the undisturbed plate caught his eye, he pushed away his own and rested his hand over hers.

“Please. Eat. If the bacon hurts to chew, at least have the rest of it.”

She shook her head. “Everything hurts too much. I feel like I’ll be sick again.”

He sighed, then thought of something. As he stood from his stool, his fingers traced up her arm, and when they disappeared, the sensation of impending collapse within her worsened. The only thread connecting her to reality was the sound of Kevin rummaging through cabinets, moving dishes around until he returned and placed an insulated plastic water bottle with a straw in front of her.

She watched intently as he screwed off the top and poured the orange juice inside. It only filled the bottle halfway, and he returned with the rest of the carton. Once the vessel was full, he closed it and pushed it toward her.

“If you don’t feel well enough to eat right now, that’s fine,” he stated, face wearing an expression of controlled neutrality. “But you need something with calories in your stomach. This much stress on you without food will hurt you more than any of the wounds.”

She pursed her lips and nodded, and he gave her a weakly warm smile before returning the carton to the fridge. He lingered there, telling himself he was just listening for her to start drinking despite knowing what the hesitation was really about.

_ I went behind her back. She’s gonna be pissed. But what about what comes next? _

He finally heard the sound of her sipping from the bottle, took a deep breath, and returned to his seat. Casey turned to face him and rested an absent hand on his bicep, eyes slightly more alive with a sense of urgent severity.

“What do I do now?” she exhaled in a monotone.

Kevin considered the question before raising her hand and pressing a kiss to her bandaged wrist. “How do you mean?”

“Kevin, there’s a dead body upstairs.”

He couldn’t contain the small grin, but he ensured it was still sad enough to express his empathy at her delirium. “I’ve taken care of things.”

“...What?”

A sigh. “I won’t be upset if you’re mad at me for doing this. But...he’s in a bag on his way to the city dump. Where bastards like him belong. And I cleaned everything up. I just...I felt like you might want to put this behind you. I only wanted to help, I swear.”

His voice cracked as he watched something bend and snap within her. She stared blankly at him for a minute, then two, then three, and he watched as some emotion he couldn’t describe spread over every inch of her face. He knew she would be angry at him for fighting another battle for her, but…

_ She’s been through enough. _

“I want to run away.”

The firmness in her raspy voice startled him, and when his eyes found hers again, he saw a terrifying flicker in their dark brown hue. One of resolve.

“What?”

Her hand slid up to his neck, and she leaned in closer. “This house, this city hasn’t added a goddamn thing to my life except you. And...I want to truly start over. Find a new life somewhere else. And I want you to come with me.”

“Casey, you’re sick, you aren’t thinking clearly-“

“I’m thinking more clearly than I ever have!” she spat out. “And I’ve realized that neither of us can have a real second chance if we keep living like this. I want to live a normal life, I want to build a life with you, but...how am I supposed to do that in this house? How am I supposed to do that here in Philly where I’m putting you at risk as an accomplice?”

Kevin was stunned. A life on the run was the polar opposite of what he thought she wanted. And while the idea was once appealing to him...her usual level head had inspired a craving for stability within him. She had made him want to be better, to face his problems rationally. But now, he saw that her good influence wasn’t the entirety of the situation. They had bled together like watercolors, and he didn’t know where his personality ended and hers began. He had made a choice to commit to his recovery.

_ But I did it for her. And she’s going to do this no matter what I say. Even if I haven’t recovered...I can’t operate on the timetable of a judge who knows jack shit. She made me want to heal, and if this will be how she heals… _

A grin broke out on his face. “You aren’t. Now let’s get ready and start packing. We have a few more places to go.”

After a proper hot shower, a change of clothes into her typical three layers and bandages into sterile dressings, and a quick brush of her good teeth, Casey dumped her backpack onto her bed and started shoving what she thought she would need inside. Clothes, hygiene supplies (though she refused to include her shaving razor out of fear for herself), and her drawing supplies were crammed in as tightly as they could be. Finally, she limped out to the hallway.

Kevin had been hard at work as well. After escorting her upstairs and retrieving his jacket, he had pillaged John’s room, including picking the lock on a safe, for anything that could be of use. In his search, he found a grand total of five thousand dollars from both the wallet and drinking stash of the corrupt psychiatrist, several collectibles that could be pawned, a set of truck keys, and an insurance card that could pay for Casey to recover to peak condition before they left the city. The last of these discoveries prompted him to call a dentist’s office for emergency extractions. He could wrap her ankle himself, and they didn’t have time to investigate the injury in her torso. It seemed to only be causing soreness, so it would be safe for a while. But they needed to fix her mouth in a hurry.

Upon concluding his frantic search, he rearranged the room to make it appear untouched before turning back to the door. She was already there, staring at him with her bag in one hand and her half-full bottle of orange juice in the other.

“Do you really want to do this?” she asked. “I don’t want you getting in any more trouble on my behalf.”

He shot her the usual smirk before striding up and kissing her. It was brief, yet passionate, and he only broke away as he remembered the promise that he would likely be able to continue this once they found their freedom.

“I’ve missed being in trouble. And I can think of no better person to be in trouble with.”

They hustled down the stairs, gathered several bags full of boxed and canned foods, and loaded the truck. Casey could smell liberation in the May breeze, and though it felt like a shallow victory as she relived the gruesome scene over and over, the initial adrenaline fueling their reckless plan was still firmly in control.

Their first stop was Kevin's apartment, where she accompanied him upstairs. The studio had several differences from when she had been there last, a mere two nights ago that felt like a lifetime. The couch, and subsequently the chest full of weed, was gone. 

Kevin pulled the cash box down from atop a cabinet and retrieved several thick stacks of bills, as well as what appeared to be a driver’s license printed with a name that certainly wasn’t his own tied to a couple of matching documents, then pulled the other wads of cash from the house from his jacket pockets and threw them into a satchel he retrieved from the floor. He packed up his own clothes and bathing supplies in a backpack, then led her back down the stairs. 

A surprising stop was a drugstore, but Casey understood why when he returned with a bag and opened it. Foundation, pain medications, and a roll of proper medical tape were removed, and the careful attention he put into wrapping her ankle and covering her facial bruises made her feel a little more human. Besides, the makeup would be needed to deflect suspicion, as Kevin planned for their last stop in town to be the DMV where Jai’s mother, who knew about the boys’ mischief but was oblivious to their falling out, printed ID cards.

The dentist’s appointment started smoothly. He dropped her off at the front door and parked near the door to wait. He was awestruck at how quickly their escape plan had come together and promptly recognized that they had both already planned. Maybe not in the wake of a murder and not together, but they both knew what they would do if they ever ran away.

_ But I can’t run away. _

Kevin cast a glance down to his ankle in utter panic. His tracking anklet was still attached. He scrambled around the cab and only came up with a pair of pliers.  _ Good enough,  _ he told himself as he jabbed their needlelike tips through the device’s hub. 

Their clean getaway was now a success, and as Casey, high as a kite from painkillers, stumbled toward him, he genuinely smiled at the thought of escape. He didn’t bother to tell her about the near disaster, and instead directed his course toward a place in the city he knew was safe.

Safety, though, was merely an illusion. Because the motion of the tracker throughout the city during the last twelve hours produced several anomalies on the monitor of his parole officer, and thirty minutes after the pair departed for the farthest outskirt of Philadelphia to plot their next move, the police arrived to confiscate the dentist’s security footage and drafted a warrant for the arrest of the alleged fugitive.


	31. The Art Of Anesthesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I saw his face, I could not speak as the anesthetic kissed his cheek. I felt my lips go cold and my limbs go weak because the body on the table where the patients die was me.”
> 
> Particular TWs for police pursuit, supernatural elements, and a car crash

“You’re still wearing it?!”

“I broke it when I remembered I was!”

Explaining his error to Casey went just as expected: her snapping out of her narcotic stupor to freak out about the breach in their plans, him snapping back as he tried to focus on the road and get to the DMV.

“And you’re sure that you broke whatever part’s supposed to track you?”

Kevin huffed as he pulled onto one of the major roads. “I don’t know! I didn’t watch them put the damn thing together, I just pierced the part that Dunn kid worked on when we ditched!”

She grimaced and shook her head, massaging her recently operated jaw with one hand and her temple with the other. There was no way shutting it down would be that easy. Leaning against the sun-warmed glass, she watched the storefronts lining the street as they passed.

“Look, Casey, I forgot. I’m sorry.”

She heaved a sigh and turned back to him, not smiling but possessing a flicker in her eye that suggested she may as well be. “It’s okay. But we have to stop at a hunting shop to get a knife. I’m not taking any chances on that thing still working.”

He nodded grimly and kept his eye out for a store. Several cop cars were parked on the sides of the street, making him anxious as he attempted to make his search appear natural to passersby. Finally, when Casey pointed out a Cabela’s on the right side of the street, he exhaled and pulled the truck into the vast parking lot. Occupying a space closer to the door, he dropped her off at the main entrance and bided his time, hunkering down to hide from prying eyes.

Every so often, he would peer over the dashboard, out the windows, just in case they had been followed. She had been inside ten, twenty, thirty minutes, and he constantly checked the clock. Two-thirty, which led him to occupy his time by eating a small lunch and putting something together for her in case she had finally regained her appetite. Two forty-five, and his leg started to bounce of its own free will as he attempted to quell his growing fear for her sake. It didn’t help that he saw a couple of the police cruisers driving down the highway, lights flashing as they tailed whatever wise guys were speeding past.

Finally, he saw the front door slide open and Casey hobble out, shopping bag in hand, and exhaled as he rested his forehead on the steering wheel. He would have stepped out to assist her, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched from every angle. Thankfully for both of them, she still had enough strength to shove the heavy door open and hop up onto the seat.

“Are you hungry at all?” he inquired shakily. He mentally cursed himself; he wasn’t this nervous when he had committed his own crime. He wasn’t even this nervous the prior night when he discovered hers.

She shook her head, instead reaching for the near-empty bottle of juice. Once its contents were fully consumed, she retrieved the new pocket knife from the plastic bag. He swung his leg up onto her lap, and she set to sawing off the troublesome band.

Kevin chided himself for not occupying his thoughts with anything positive. Liberty from its supposed birthplace and all of the baggage the pair carried within it should have been cause for celebration. He should have been dreaming up all manner of new lives with Casey, whether that be putting roots down as new people in a new city or adventuring through the countryside.

But now, as he stared faux-nonchalantly out the truck’s back window, all he could focus on was the black sedan across the aisle of the parking lot.

The driver was still sitting in the seat.  _ Okay, not weird, you did the same thing.  _ But he remembered the car pulling in five minutes after they had arrived, and he couldn’t remember if he had seen anyone exit the passenger door. His eyes started to drift down the hood.

_ Those are bulbs in the grill. And municipal plates. _

_ Fuck. _

**_Snap!_ **

His remorsefully panicked eyes were thrown to the source of the sound, and he found Casey holding the knife in her palm and dangling the tracker smugly. However, any trace of a grin faded when she saw his state.

“What’s wrong?”

Without answering, he swung his foot back down to its rightful place by the truck’s pedals, buckled up, and turned the key in the ignition. She wasn’t satisfied, and she leaned over, resting her hands soothingly, pleadingly, at the junction of his neck and face.

“Kevin,” she rasped, “tell me what’s wrong.”

He paused, taking a few shallow breaths, and cautiously leaned into her touch. Then, he pressed his foot on the brake and threw the shift into drive.

“I’m going to drive through the empty space in front of us, yeah? But before that, I want you to unroll the window.”

“Why?”

“Please, just do it.”

She sighed, and her eyes started to well up from terror, but she promptly obeyed the instruction and nearly tossed the tracker outside.

“No!” he hissed between gritted teeth just in time to prevent the disposal. “Not yet. Drop it as discreetly as possible as we drive through the space.”

“Kevin, you’re scaring me.”

He extended one arm to cradle her face, wiping away a tear she didn’t realize she had shed with his thumb. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Kevin.”

Finally, he sighed and faced the ugly truth. “I think there’s an undercover cop behind us.”

Casey craned her neck to peer through the back window, wrapping her free hand around the one by her face, and immediately noticed the black car. Then she turned to face him once again, expression as solid as possible in spite of the panic slipping through the cracks.

“Go.”

His foot shifted to the gas pedal, and she allowed the anklet to slide down the side of the truck and clatter onto the pavement. She promptly buckled up and closed the knife as he maneuvered the large vehicle through the parking lot, and he shot constant glances back via the rearview mirror.

The sedan had left its space and was driving in the same direction down its own aisle. Except it was moving noticeably faster, angled toward the main drive that their truck was approaching.

“Floor it.”

Kevin was stunned to hear the choked murmur from the passenger seat, but when he turned to make eye contact, he saw that her eyes were full of dancing flames, precariously close to snuffing out and lapping at everything around them in an effort to gain fuel. Finally, she spoke again, this time far more firmly.

“Floor it.”

His foot slammed down onto the gas pedal, and he breezed past the black sedan. Flashing red and blue beacons poured forth from its grill after they passed, and he banked a hard right onto the main road.The unmarked car followed in hot pursuit, and the fireworks of police lights multiplied as he cut off two more cop cars.

_ Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck- _

Their thoughts were indistinguishable from each others’ as they weaved around the slower traffic before them, ducking between lanes at a breakneck pace. Casey gripped the handle above the window, peeking through her wind-whipping hair to discover that the truck had already reached seventy miles per hour and wasn’t slowing down. Horns erupted from other cars, and the raucous combination of noises made her cringe harder than the agitation of her arms as caused by holding on for dear life.

The police were gaining on them, and Kevin looked around desperately for a clear route. A sharp right turn within two hundred yards led to the freeway, and it was his last chance. One final glance back revealed an empty lane, and he slammed the brake and cranked the steering wheel. Casey screeched briefly and clamped her eyes shut as the truck’s bed swung out from its prior momentum, only opening her eyes as she felt the vehicle accelerating on the downhill route to the open road.

Reinforcements followed their new path, and their speed was breaking into triple digits. Casey had started to sob from fear, while Kevin kept his eyes glued on the road. But apparently not enough. Intercepting forces had lined across all lanes, forcing him to veer for a road that crossed the median.

He couldn’t pull the same trick twice, and both felt the weight of the truck tilt too far outward as they turned. All she could see out her window was grass, which drew closer with every suspended second. He wept as he realized the gravity of the situation, the force of the inevitable impact.

Both of them blacked out as the truck tumbled over the small field.

The next color Casey could see was pure, blinding white.

_ Am I...I have to be dead. _

“Not quite, my dear.”

Startled, she pivoted to the direction of the calm voice. Miss Patricia, in all of her usual pitch-black glory, stood a few feet away, hands folded and face sternly soothing.

“M-Miss Patricia,” she stuttered in confusion. “How did you...wait, where are we?”

The woman took a step forward. “All in due time my child. But physically, right now, you are at the Penn Presbyterian Hospital. Both you and your beau have been there for at least three days, maybe four...I apologize, I did not learn of the disaster until the day after it happened.”

“We’ve...we’re in comas?”

“You are in a coma, darling. The gentleman fared better; his side of the vehicle didn’t hit until at least some of the momentum had faded. On top of your other injuries...the hospital staff are unsure if you’ll wake up.”

Hot tears streamed down Casey’s cheeks, and she staggered forward. The woman opened her arms to greet the distraught child and embraced her trembling form. However, Patricia’s face remained perfectly neutral in spite of her protégé’s sorrow.

“Does Kevin at least check in on me?”

The woman sighed. “Due to the nature of the situation, he is banned from seeing you whatsoever by the authorities. They’ve attempted to question him about the causes of the pursuit, but...he’s as belligerent as ever. Hasn’t said a word.”

The girl sobbed against Miss Patricia’s collarbone for a while. Neither knew any sense of time in the hazy space, but that didn’t matter.

Until Casey realized something.

Gripping Miss Patricia’s shoulders, the girl made frenetic eye contact, feral instincts taking over. “Please, keep me alive. Wake me up. I’m begging you. We- Kevin and I- I won’t let him go to jail alone. I’m the guilty party here.”

The regal woman clicked her tongue as politely as possible. “I’m afraid that can’t happen.”

“What?”

She straightened her cravat and folded her hands once again. A quick, sheepish glance was cast to her toes before she resumed eye contact with the distressed young lady. “Fate is a funny thing. Your body has already reached a state where waking up is a physical impossibility and the doctors may be forced to-“

“No…”

The pained whisper tore the woman’s heart in half, but she continued, albeit with a gradually darkening expression. “All of my rituals and prayers and direct spiritual pipelines have failed. I’m so sorry.”

Casey collapsed to her knees, head hung in personal devastation. She had failed Kevin and nearly gotten him killed trying to flee from what she had done. No amount of choice on his part could make up for that.

“Please, Miss Patricia...I don’t want to die…”

The stern woman stared upward to halt the few tears that formed in her eyes. She had no say in the matter. Though she was intrinsically linked to God, she couldn’t control whether He took the life of this girl who had already been through too much.

But maybe she could, if only a little bit.

“Casey, dearest, look at me.”

She obeyed, meeting Patricia’s flickering, overzealous eyes. All kindness had been replaced with something else, something that the hope provided by her next statement drowned.

“I can make you a deal.”

The blinding white haze was replaced by the glare of the hospital room fluorescents as Casey’s eyes popped open. Shock filled her first, and then elation. The only pain she felt was from the IVs stuck in her arms, and not even the injuries from her uncle incapacitated her.

Tears in her eyes, she whispered into the otherwise empty room,

“Are you God?”

_ Close. Now run along, my dove. _

She yanked the needles from her arms and tiptoed to the door, ensuring the nurses weren’t approaching. Once all footsteps had cleared out, she slid into the hallway to enact her carefully plotted escape plan.


	32. Run Boy Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Tomorrow is another day, and you won’t have to hide away.”

Kevin had taken up a new hobby of mentally tracing the lines between the bricks on the wall on the opposite side of the room. That is, when he wasn’t playing whatever memory game the doctor had employed to help him keep his bearings as he nursed his concussion. Most of this was counting the days since the accident and, at least for him, since he had seen Casey. He couldn’t see a calendar, but approximately halfway between waking up and going to sleep, he was approached by his parole officer, who always asked just what the hell he was thinking and never received an answer. This had happened four times now…

_ Saturday, then. And I haven’t been allowed to see her, haven’t so much as been told she’s doing okay. _

He had pried, too. The doctors and nurses always told him they’d wait and see, while the police said she’d be doing a lot better if he hadn’t entangled her in this chaos. He had even tried to escape his room as well, limping on his good leg to the door only to be shoved back in by police guards. His room was locked tighter than Fort Knox despite the fact that he was too maimed to really hurt anyone.

He would make it, and he probably could escape if given a clear shot. His concussion was severe and his broken nose throbbed, but he had endured worse. His left arm had shattered and was in a cast and sling, his left leg was in a full cast, but his right side was fully functional, albeit bruised. He had been informed of several broken ribs, which had miraculously filled the spaces in his chest cavity vacant of organs, sparing him a worse fate.

And even this promising inventory of his own health made him fear for her. She had fallen toward the door as the truck made impact, leaving her at the cold mercy of physics. Coupled with her state Tuesday…

He winced as the panic stabbed at his brain. No matter how distracting examining the walls could be, his thoughts were occupied by one face. One beautifully resolute face. His attempts to channel the strength she had shown when he last saw her were always replaced by the sight of her parallel with the ground as the truck went airborne. 

_ The entire purpose of running away was to protect her. And I failed. _

**_Click! Fwish…_ **

Kevin’s eyes were thrown to the door, and he scowled as his parole officer entered. The elderly man clutched an envelope to his chest, grabbed a folding chair leaned against the wall, and set up shop by the young man.

“You wanna say anything today, or are you just gonna flip out about the girl again?”

His flippancy made Kevin physically sick. “I want my lawyer.”

“Y’know, that’s the first smart thing you’ve said.” A gruff sigh, and then, “The doctor says that with the casts and careful treatment for your head, you could be released. Which is just plain lucky on your part, because-“

He was cut off by the ballistic din of his radio. A siren was going off, followed by a frantic announcement by one of the nurses.

“We have a reported code silver at the ground floor lobby! All police to the front!”

The officer rushed out of the room, and Kevin regretted that he couldn’t see the chaos as it went down. But not even two minutes later, the door creaked open.

And in stepped Casey, wearing a nurse’s uniform, looking as if the only effect of the crash was accelerated healing for her prior wounds.

“Casey?” he croaked, full of awe that she appeared unscathed. However, she raised a finger and pressed it to her lips, instructing him to keep quiet. She tiptoed across the room, pressed an air-chilled kiss to his forehead, and met his stunned cerulean gaze.

“I don’t know how,” she started as she gathered her nerves, “but I woke up and I was fine. But we need to leave. Now, while we still have a chance.”

As she moved to start detaching the IVs, he reached a hand up to cup her face. She shrunk back and continued her work, but he verbally persisted.

“Casey,” he repeated, murmuring by her ear, “what the hell is going on? How did you- ah!”

She clamped a hand over his mouth before he could scream out in pain as each needle was removed. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she explained. “They didn’t keep me under constant watch. I only woke up a few hours ago. I managed to slip through the door to the anesthesiologist’s office and use whatever sedative she was putting together on her. I wouldn’t say-“  **_Click!_ ** She unhooked the sling and hung the band over his neck, tying it as portably as possible. “-that I look like her all that much, but she had dark hair and I needed a decoy. Nabbed an ID card, a set of car keys, and two spare uniforms from the nurses’ station-“ This was punctuated by her placing a set of oversized scrubs on his lap as she pressed an ice pack to his forehead and pulled him into an upright position. “-and then a scalpel from a doctor’s tool rack. Another patient’s family member was being an asshole down at the front, so I masked up, slid the scalpel into his pocket, and passed the receptionist a meds order with a little note saying ‘he’s armed.’ Before you know it, all the cops in front of your room are gone, and now I’m hauling you out to the parking lot so y- we can get out of here.”

She assisted him in donning the scrubs, thanking the powers that be that his good foot was also his driving foot. They needed to bug out within the next five minutes, before the officers came back as reinforcements rolled in. With no time to lose, she slung his good arm over her shoulders and helped him hobble out of the room.

The halls were full of other medical staff scrambling to evacuate, making the pair’s haste for the employee parking lot inconspicuous. Casey constantly looked behind her, fearing that they were being followed, but everyone else was panicked about their own escape. 

“How?”

The whisper brought her attention back to Kevin. “How what?”

“How did...how did you sneak past everyone?”

She smiled gently and rubbed her fingertips over the segment of his side where she supported his weight. “You know this better than anyone. I had to be invisible, blend in with the walls before. And now, I choose to be if it means...if it means we run free.”

“Wait!” he exclaimed before stepping back and leaning against the wall, taking shallow breaths from the exertion. “Your bags! Did you get your cash at least? Mine’s...mine might have been taken as evidence, but I don’t want you to have nothing.”

_ Dammit. And everything had gone so perfectly according to plan. _

She huffed in frustration at herself, redirected her course, and resumed her hold on Kevin. They ducked down a vacant hallway, lined only with heavy doors. Finally, she stopped in front of one at the end and heaved it open with all her might as he read the tag at eye level.

**Equipment**

“Why…”

“This isn’t our stuff,” she panted, despite the fact that her neck still felt cool against his arm in the cold hospital air. She trudged forth and grabbed a crutch that was leaning against the opposite wall. “I know where our bags are. The police have set up shop in an office upstairs, and I overheard a guard discussing taking bags as evidence straight from here if they take you to court immediately.” With that, she wedged the crutch, slightly too large but decent for the pinch they were in, beneath his arm, reached into her back pocket, and pulled out a ring full of car keys.

“Here’s the plan,” she stated firmly, one hand on his jaw and the other wrapping his intact hand around the keys. “I want you to go out to the parking lot and find the car these keys belong to. Right out the way we were going, okay? You can use the power locks as a beacon if you need to. I’m going to go up to that office and grab what I can. Hopefully our bags are there, if not...well, I doubt cops would keep their wallets on them.”

A weak grin crept across his face. This was the Casey he fell in love with. Resilient, crafty, and, deep down, just as mischievous as him.

“I love you,” Kevin whispered.

She pressed a strong kiss to his lips, her own tasting of salt as a stray tear escaped. With a slight nibble on his bottom lip, she absorbed the heat like her life depended on it. As he brought his hand up to grip her shoulder, though, she cautiously stepped back, one hand still on his face.

“I’ve always loved you,” she choked out from tears of joy. “Now go. I’ll be out soon.”

Casey finally drew her hand away and ran out of the room and down the corridor nearest the closet door. He trailed her out, hopping with his crutch to the best of his abilities, but she was already sprinting up a distant flight of stairs. Hobbling out to the main hall, he found several nurses transporting some patients to secure medical wards.

And one frantically searching the nurses’ station, presumably for her car keys, visible through the open door.

_ It’s time. _

As fast as he could on one crutch, he made his way to the emergency exit. A straggling nurse held the door open for him, thankfully not recognizing him, and they merely nodded in greeting as he stumbled out into the blinding sunlight.

A press of the unlock button on the main key fob lit the headlights of a new blue station wagon three rows out from the door. He limped to it as best as he could, grateful that several spaces between him and his goal had cleared out due to the frenzy inside. Though Casey was in far better shape to drive, he slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, trusting himself to handle the vehicle now that there was hopefully no car chase. He singlehandedly slid the crutch into the backseat and turned to watch the back door.

Casey emerged five minutes later with three large bags: his, hers, and the cash. Noticing the running car, she strode over to him, rounded the car, and popped the trunk. The bags were tossed in, and she pulled the pocket knife from one of the bags’ side pouches and, upon slamming the trunk closed, set to work scratching the paint off of strategic parts of the license plate lettering. She continued this process at the front, then opened one of the back doors. A crutch was pulled out, and she beat the hatch on the trunk until there was a large dent, then one on the hood of the car, and finally one on the door, until it had enough damage to not match the description of the shiny vehicle the cops would be looking for.

After throwing the crutch into the backseat once again, she threw open the passenger door, slid in beside Kevin, and slammed it shut. He stared at her incredulously until she directed a questioning glance toward him.

“How are you able to function?” he finally blurt out. “You...you were on the side the truck rolled over.”

She swiped remnants of tears from her face before making tumultuous eye contact. “I...don’t know. But I’ve lived in a house with Satan and an army of invisible nuns and monks for two years. I’d say this is one of the least strange things I’ve ever lived through.”

A grin broke out on his face. “So...where to?”

She hesitated for several moments, face falling almost imperceptibly as she tried to maintain a smile. Finally, she burst into a full matching grin and stared straight out the windshield. “You’re in the driver’s seat. Where do you want to go?”

He started the car, shaking with the excitement of running away with her, this seeming goddess among women. “I’ve heard Baltimore is beautiful in May.”

Casey smiles as if she were to blush, but the usual color remained hidden as she tried to compose herself for the journey ahead. “Sounds great! Onward!”

He drove out of the parking lot and onto the road, relieved by the lack of flashing lights this time around. They managed to maintain a normal drive, attracting no unwanted attention for the first time in their recent memories. And when the parole officer returned from arresting the framed man, he found his parolee gone without a trace.


	33. What A Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “What a feeling to be a king beside you somehow. I wish I could be there now.”
> 
> Particular TW for supernatural elements

The direct route to Baltimore would have taken under two hours, but Kevin felt neither conscious nor secure enough to take a chance on driving on the freeway.  _ Not again.  _ Casey periodically asked if he was okay, if she should take over, but he always shook his head. He wasn’t quite sure why, as the motion didn’t feel like his own, but he wrote it off as the fact that, between the two of them, he had a fake driver’s license.  _ Then again, it would be of no use if they saw my arm and leg… _

Soon enough, it didn’t matter. Casey rested a hand, cooled by the breeze of… _ wait, the windows are rolled up and the AC is off. Why are her hands cold? _

Her hand found his shoulder, where fabric met skin, and lazily traced circles with her fingertips. Cautiously, she asked, “Do you have a plan for...when we get there?”

He sighed and turned briefly to look at her, but with a gentle push on his jaw, she guided his eyes back to the road. “Honestly?” he began. “Not a clue. And I don’t even know how long we’ll even be able to stay...on this coast. You know they’ll be hunting us.”

Casey nodded melancholically. “Well, it’s a place to start. We could just get a motel to start. You have an identity, you could get a job.” She hesitated with a grimace. “Rather, one with a chair.”

He chuckled to himself, and she took that as a cue to smile. “I can just use the escaped victim excuse for the eight billionth time.”

She nodded, brushing her fingers over his cheek and causing him to shudder. As he started to turn his neck again, though, the gentle touch became a push for his focus to return to the road.

“And,” she continued, breathing shallow as she started to weep but voice held as steady as possible, “I have my art supplies. I can do commissions and such.”

“I’ll have to pull out the SIM cards on our phones when we get stopped,” he stated gruffly. “We should be fine for now, but...I’m not letting them track me and put you in danger again.”

She smiled through her tears, grateful she could keep his eyes away from her, and pressed a frigid kiss to his cheek. He knew there was something wrong; the May sun warmed the rest of the cab through the glass, but her touch was freezing.

“If you need to turn on the heater, go ahead,” he told her without looking over. “It won’t bother me much, scout’s honor.”

She giggled slightly, but it sounded hollow. Nevertheless, she turned the dial, and warm air started to pour into the cab. Finally she yawned, “I’m gonna sleep. I...think the hysterical strength or whatever is wearing off.”

As she slid down into a lying position, she traced his features with her eyes, slow so as to truly remember every minute detail. The dust of stubble that had grown in the hospital, the soft severity of his facial structure, and those bright blue eyes.

“I love you,” she whispered before finally closing her eyes.

A smile spread over Kevin’s face, but as the traffic around him multiplied, he didn’t dare look at her.

“I love you, too. Sweet dreams...dollface.”

_ I rest the back of my hand over the child’s forehead. She’s been asleep since I transported her soul back to the house, but she’s slowly warmed to a temperature that would be considered healthy for her ethereal form. _

_ The plan has succeeded, I am sure of it. And now, she will join us. _

_ After a few more minutes, her eyelids pop open, and she sits upright on her bed. She must have cried herself to sleep, as her eyes are instantaneously filling with tears. Everyone who accompanied me to greet her—Dennis, Hedwig, and several others, including the not-yet-ingratiated Barry and Jade—flinches backward as she abruptly awakens. _

_ Her eyes rush from face to face. I wear as tranquil of an expression as I can, but she has focused on the two dissenters, countenance not betraying a single reason as to why. _

_ A look back reveals that they are merely smiling tenderly at her. No matter. They may have rescued her, but perhaps her spiritual transference revealed… _

_ No. It shan’t have. I would not have allowed the complacency in such a crime to be displayed. And so, I place my fingertip on her chin and guide her to make eye contact. _

_ “Did our plot work?” I ask quietly. _

_ She nods, clamping her eyes closed as hot tears start to escape. _

_ “Is he safe?” _

_ Both of us twist our necks to discover the source of the question. Jade is leaning forward, hands pressed into the bedding at the foot of the furniture. The child nods in response, and both Jade and Barry grin from what I can only interpret is relief. _

_ I suppose I am glad that I had a hand in her dying wish being fulfilled. But...I am concerned yet about the pair’s worry over the situation. They have been conversing with Kat again, and though I’ve tamed her after the stunt she pulled on the night of the murder, the revelation of her powers deeply disturbed the order within the house. If they are dragging her into schemes again, I fear the worst, especially with this fragile twenty-fourth member of our family. _

_ That is beside the point now. I turn and instruct Dennis to gather everyone not currently present and escort them into the room, and he obeys as swiftly as possible. I then direct my attention back to the child. _

_ “Would you like a hug?” I inquire. _

_ She mulls it over for several moments, eyes hopping between the faces of those present, landing directly down the bed from her for a split second longer before she returns to me and flashes a sorrowful smile. _

_ “No thank you, Miss Patricia. But...thanks for all of your help.”  _

_ My tight-lipped smile in return is short-lived as Dennis returns with the rest of our fellowship. Finally, I turn and address the crowd. _

_ “Ladies and gentlemen,” I announce. “Please give a warm welcome to our newest member, Miss Casey.” _

Upon seeing a road sign for a Travelodge two blocks away and glancing at the time, exactly 3:13 in the afternoon, Kevin decided that they had been through enough for one day. He drove to the motel and was pleased to find the parking lot nearly empty. Pulling into a spot by the front door, he put the car in park, shut off the ignition and took a brief break to gather his bearings.

They made it. They escaped, just as planned. It certainly took more steps to leave Philadelphia than originally projected, and in all honesty he felt like trash from his injuries. But he was here, alive, next to the most wonderful person in the world.

“Casey, love, wake up. We’re-“

He turned as he addressed the sleeping girl, but she was missing from the passenger seat. Kevin sat in stunned silence for a second or two before repeating her name and checking the rest of the car for his missing companion. She was nowhere to be found.

The heat was on, and he hadn’t taken his good hand off the wheel once, so she must have turned it on. He remembered telling her to do so, as she had been freezing cold. His crutches were still in the backseat, so he had to reach out to retrieve them before throwing the driver’s side door open and stumbling out into the parking lot. 

Hobbling on his crutches, he moved back to the trunk, examining the car on his way. Every dent was still present, every disguising scratch on the paint and the license plate. He popped the trunk to find three bags. His, hers, and the cash. No trace that Casey had bailed at all. He slid his phone out of the pocket of his bag and tossed the court-issued SIM card over a nearby hedge into the parking lot next door. He then moved to do the same with hers, but found it mangled beyond repair.

_ She was on the side that rolled, and my phone was pretty fortified, so that makes sense… _

_ She made impact. She was cold the entire time. She was able to do this without being seen. She didn’t want me to look at her. _

_ “I’ve lived in a house with Satan and an army of invisible nuns and monks for two years. I’d say this is one of the least strange things I’ve ever lived through.” _

Everything clicked, and Kevin’s heart dropped into his stomach as he grabbed a bundle of cash from its bag, slammed the trunk closed, and rushed into the lobby. He quickly signed off on a room in his new name, obtained the Wi-Fi password, and hastened back out to the car to collect the bags. An elderly man noticed him struggling with the three bags slung over his shoulder and the back of his neck, but Kevin hobbled for his ground-floor room as quickly as possible.

The key slid in and the door opened with little issue, and he nearly tumbled inside, shutting the door by prodding it with the crutch. His bags were thrown on the bed, and he eased himself up to join them. Sliding his phone out of his bag once again, he tapped out the password and loaded the webpage for the Philadelphia Daily News.

He was then greeted by a developing story, which he opened.

**ONE DEAD, ONE INJURED IN POLICE CHASE CRASH**

**On Tuesday, May 5th, two Upper Merion Area High School seniors were involved in a fatal crash while fleeing from police at high speeds on Interstate 276 near King of Prussia. Kevin Crumb, 19, was driving the vehicle, a black 2010 Ford F-150, at approximately 97 miles per hour before turning onto a maintenance road and rolling the vehicle three times over the highway median. In the passenger seat was classmate Casey Cooke, 18. Also found in the vehicle were bags of clothing and toiletries, food, a pocket knife, an envelope of forged personal documents, and $7,500 in cash. Intoxication did not appear to be a factor.**

**Crumb and Cooke were taken to Penn Presbyterian Medical Center and treated for their injuries. Cooke’s injuries included several crushed organs and a shattered skull. She was in a coma and placed on life support until Saturday morning, when a nurse discovered she had passed away from her injuries. Crumb’s injuries were relatively minor, as he suffered from a shattered arm and leg, several broken ribs, and a severe concussion.**

**Crumb was on parole at the time of the crash for murdering his mother in December 2019 after a contentious two-month criminal case. The terms of his release included wearing a tracking device, returning to school, and seeing a psychiatrist. Coincidentally, his psychiatrist was Cooke’s uncle and legal guardian, Dr. John Cooke.**

**It has been reported that he was present at the Cooke household, where Dr. Cooke operates his psychiatric practice, late at night on May 4th. When police arrived at the home to inform Dr. Cooke of his niece’s hospitalization, nobody answered the door. Upon obtaining a search warrant Friday evening, officers found the home vacant and several rooms robbed of valuables. Foul play in this disappearance is suspected, but the guilty party is yet unclear.**

**On Saturday, May 9th, it was reported by Penn Presbyterian Medical Center that, during an incident involving an armed relative of another patient, Crumb escaped his hospital room. While police were occupied with the code silver, which occurred in the lobby of the hospital, Crumb, despite his injuries, slipped out of his room and snuck through the evacuating clusters of nurses and patients. Though he was working alone and with half of his limbs disabled, he stole a single crutch, a set of car keys, a set of scrubs, and three of the bags that had been confiscated from Tuesday’s wreckage as evidence and stored in a locked office on the second story. Upon examining the lock, no evidence of tampering was found.**

**Crumb escaped the hospital in a new blue 2020 Volvo V60 with plates 7XZ A13. The Philadelphia Police Department has launched a manhunt for Crumb. If you have any information as to his whereabouts, contact the Philadelphia Police Department.**

Kevin choked back sobs as he read the article.  _ She’s dead. She’s dead and it’s all my fault. We didn’t make it, at least not together. Not like we wanted. Not like she wanted. _

Though it was the middle of the afternoon, he clutched her bag to his chest, curled into a ball, and cried himself to sleep

The house had become chaotic in the week since Casey’s arrival. Police had shown up to inform John Cooke of his niece’s passing, only to find that he had disappeared as well. Coupled with information that Kevin had been there the entire night before the crash, the cops started to dig up every inch of the lawn and dust every surface for prints. It wasn’t until they received word of a human skull at the landfill from the newest batch of trash that they came to the conclusion of a conspiracy.

It made sense to a small handful of the police. The autopsy revealed evidence of a domestic violence incident prior to the crash. Several members of the senior class were interrogated, and each one testified that Kevin and Casey had been a couple. It was only natural that, if she were being abused, she may have retaliated similarly to someone she admired. Especially if the one she admired was her own uncle’s psychiatric patient.

The rest of the force overlooked this. There was a murderer, an accomplice, a car thief, and, as evidenced by lab samples on the linens and carpets in his apartment, an illicit drug dealer on the loose. The manhunt was on, and Casey couldn’t help but keep the television on when none of the living were present and the news discussed Kevin’s escape from the hospital.

Baskets of flowers were often dropped on the front doorstep by neighbors, classmates and colleagues. As badly as Casey wanted to bring them inside and keep them hydrated, Miss Patricia warned her against revealing their presence, so she was forced to watch as the petals shriveled and stems bowed. All of Dr. Cooke’s records on Kevin were seized, and copies of the rest were transferred to other local psychiatrists to minimize disruption to other patients. Several items containing many fingerprints, like the bottle of whiskey and the knife, were taken in as evidence. Slowly, Casey watched the officers loot her house until the only room that was left intact was the attic.

It wasn’t like she was permitted to go up there either. Miss Patricia deemedher presence before the Beast to be an inciting factor in the tragic events of late and so decided to keep her occupied with her own hobbies, leaving her out of the rotation of guards. Sometimes, Casey would help Barry and Jade with fashion designs, though Miss Patricia kept a careful eye on their interactions. Other times, she would draw and finger paint with Hedwig and Polly. Even in death, she had an abundance of creative energy, for which Miss Patricia was grateful.

But the woman was also worried once again. Casey most likely remembered her absence in the aftermath of the owner’s assault, which would explain her particular bond with Barry and Jade. In truth, the blood loss had made any recent memories very weak to her. Nevertheless, she was drawn to the pair of friends and knew they were her friends in the afterlife.

Within a few weeks of this routine of watching news stories about Kevin, playing with the children, and designing with Barry and Jade, Casey found a strange family with the ghosts in her home. Miss Patricia was pleased with this peace, and so decided not to tamper with her memories of her typically strong will. Within her brief stay already, she had proven herself docile enough to be kept ignorant about the truth of the house without divine intervention.


	34. All The Good Girls Go To Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “All the good girls go to Hell ‘cause even God Herself has enemies.”
> 
> Particular TW for extreme supernatural elements

Miss Patricia hadn’t counted on Casey’s own reflection on her assault. However, as the two women had tea one afternoon, about a year after the crash and eight months after the house had been foreclosed on, the elder was caught off guard by a question by the younger.

“Why did you send Jade to get me out of the shower that night?”

Despite all of her propriety, Miss Patricia choked on her tea and had to cough into her napkin several times as Casey watched in shock. Once she could speak again, the woman returned her attention to her companion.

“I apologize deeply for my scene just then. Could you please...elaborate on your question?”

Casey’s features hardened as she continued. “That night when my uncle...raped me, and I nearly...died. Jade found me in the shower, and she and Barry helped me dry off and heal from the...the scars on my wrists.” She gave the woman a pained smile. “I guess I just want to know why you sent them that time.”

Miss Patricia was at a loss for words. She had no idea how much the Beast had told her when Kat allowed Him out of the attic and didn’t want to betray anything that could weaken the girl’s belief in the order of the fellowship. So, she reached out a hand to cradle her cheek.

“Oh, darling,” the woman said, her hand just two inches away. “You truly must have been delirious. I was there-“

“Heya, Casey!” Jade’s voice echoed in the kitchen as she walked up from the living room. She rested a hand on Casey’s shoulder and glared through her smile at Miss Patricia, daring her to touch the new family member. The woman retracted her hand and returned to sipping her tea, and Casey turned around confusedly to gaze up at the new addition to their conversation.

“So, Barry and I were wondering,” she said as she drew her hand back and perched herself on a stool beside her friend, “if you would want to help us repaint your old room. No realtor’s gonna touch this place, and we think if we put a couple coats of white on the walls, we can just put murals upon murals of designs. Whaddya think?”

Casey looked back at Miss Patricia, who glowered suspiciously at the young woman but said nothing. Jade, on the other hand, had a flicker behind her eyes that suggested she was directing rather than offering, though all of the usual camaraderie was still present. Finally, she smiled at the presenter of the invitation.

“Sounds like fun!” she piped up. “Let’s do it!”

“Awesome!” Jade cheered before wrapping her hand around Casey’s wrist, careful so as not to claw her with the longest of her nails. With all of her characteristic enthusiasm, she pulled her companion along and up the stairs. Meanwhile, Miss Patricia watched, conducting a mental inventory of whom she had seen that morning.

When the pair arrived at the old bedroom, Casey noticed the lack of painting supplies and the presence of one other person. She had pale skin and dark hair, like Miss Patricia, but her hair was curled wildly and her eyes were such an icy silver that they almost looked white. She wore a short-sleeved white blouse, a purple mesh length of fabric that tangled over her shoulders and around her arms, a flowing white high-low skirt, and tan flip-flops. Her makeup was heavier than Barry’s and Jade’s, but she wore a small smile.

“This,” Barry started as he shut the door behind the women as they entered, “is Kat. I don’t think you’ve met her, Casey, but she helped the Beast visit you the night after we met.”

Kat extended a hand, and Casey reluctantly shook it before directing her attention back to the man. “What is this actually about?”

“This is about the question you asked Patricia,” Jade chimed in, “because we feel it’s time you finally learn the truth about what happened.”

“Please,” Kat implored, gesturing to the bed behind her, “sit.”

Casey obeyed the mysterious woman, who promptly joined her. Jade crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, while Barry put one hand on his hip and ran the other through his hair.

“The truth is,” he started, “that Jade and I came to you that night in direct violation of Patricia’s orders.”

Casey frowned, and Kat patted her back sympathetically. However, the girl wasn’t pleased with this statement. “What do you mean? Why would she tell you...to not help me?”

“Well, she didn’t necessarily say that,” Jade joined. “Barry and I were on guard duty that evening. We were supposed to prevent the Beast from pulling any of its tricks. And it didn’t. It sure paced its chamber a hell of a lot, but it had no role in what your uncle did to you.”

_ Because as delicious as feasting on your uncle's rage would have been, yours would be a far more bountiful meal. _

“He told me,” Casey gasped, “that He didn’t feed on my uncle’s rage. That He waited to feed on mine.”

“Yes,” Kat murmured. “You see, I can communicate with the Beast due to my training in the mystic arts. So, I am unable to be subdued by Patricia, but I still know how He thinks. And that’s why I ensured I was on the guard rotation the night of the murder.”

“But that’s only half of the story,” Barry continued, accepting the baton for the story. “All of your uncle’s brutality that night was his own. And yet Patricia places the blame on us despite the fact that she stood by and watched him assault you.”

Casey didn’t want to believe him, but knowing what the Beast had told her, she couldn’t help but hold some faith in what the trio was telling her. Tears welled in her eyes as she stood up and faced him. “She stood by? Why the hell would she do that?”

“That’s what we aren’t sure about,” Jade said. “Not even Kat knows. But...Patricia has a power that allows her to calm any soul. Not calm; subdue was the word Kat used. At times, it can involve bending one’s memories so the incident poses no future problems. I’ve seen her use it on your uncle before, one of which I believe was the night after Kevin’s first day of school.”

Casey remembered how quickly Uncle John had changed from belligerent drunkenness to concerned parenting, and the assertion made sense. “But then...this time was so much worse! Why hold back now?”

“None of us know,” Kat said on her turn. “There’s only one being who could tell you what she thinks.”

The three veterans gazed up at the ceiling in unison. Casey shortly joined them, eyes wide with horror at the idea of confronting Him.

“I’m on guard duty tonight,” Kat stated, “but if we get to work on an appearance switch, then you can ask it all of these questions yourself while the three of us make it look like we’ve been painting. Are you in?”

Casey was breathless and tearful from the series of revelations, but also quite skeptical. What cause did she have to face evil Himself at the urging of a few conspirators?

_ The cause of words versus actions. Miss Patricia always goes on about how she cares, about how wonderful you are. But who saved you from yourself? _

“I’m in.”

The attic was just as dark as it had been when she trekked through it with Kevin, just as terrifying, but Casey needed answers, source be damned. She managed to slip past Miss Patricia in her disguise as Kat, but she had to hurry before the woman recognized the fortune teller downstairs. As she walked toward the deepest recess of the attic, she felt as if she was suffocating, but her resolve pushed her forth. 

Their merry band of four had made a skeleton of a plan, with Casey as their executive in dealing with the devil on this momentous occasion. No candles would be lit, so as to allow Him to thrive and communicate with her as he had the night of the murder. They all agreed that if Casey discovered anything malicious about the matriarch, they had to stop her at any cost.

_ Any cost.  _ The veterans agreed they would rather blink out of existence than spend one more second under Patricia’s roof, but Casey wasn’t so sure she wanted to hurt them like that.

Finally, she crossed the threshold into the Beast’s chamber, shut the door, and waited.

_ Hello again. _

“Hello.”

_ I’m so very proud of both yourself and your beloved. What you’ve done requires great courage. _

Casey winced at the mention of Kevin, but she had to muster a straight face. “I appreciate your words, but skip the flattery. Do you know why I’m here?”

_ But of course. You seek answers on the ward mother’s true motivations. _

She nodded, and a brief flash of a spiny grin revealed itself in the darkness before fading to black once again.

_ Have you ever noticed that Patricia and Persephone start with the same letter? _

“Um...excuse me?”

_ I didn’t even intend for that to happen when we met, but...that tidbit certainly amuses me a great deal. _

“I don’t understand. Persephone as in...the Greek goddess?”

_ Who else? Hades had his bride in the ancient mythos, but he was a filthy coward who took her without her consent. But Patricia...she found me on her own. And she stayed, for all these years, keeping a special dollhouse just for me. _

“But...she’s a nun! She created this home for broken souls to heal and find faith! How can you assert such things?”

_ My child, a mild-mannered atheist who cares for his fellow man will reach heaven before any zealot who uses her faith as a tactic for control. I’ve wanted to send your three compatriots to the other side of the grand divide for decades. But love is a fascinating beast of its own; I am as tied to her as she is to me, and she believes their petty sins of homosexuality and the pursuit of knowledge deserve them a place here just as much as Dennis’s assault of an exotic dancer or Hedwig’s brutal beating of other boys in the schoolyard.  _

“Then...what is this place?”

_ Oh, my child...you are in Hell itself. _

The suffocating sensation of the dark around her intensified. She actually had died and gone to Hell. She had been deceived. But she also remembered whom she was speaking to.

“And why should I believe anything you say?”

_ That’s fair. I have been known to play a few games in my day. But consider this: would a soul worthy of Hell aid a young woman on death’s door? Would a soul worthy of Heaven burn down a house full of those she’s been entrusted to protect as a sacrifice to Satan? _

A pale light flashed in the corner of her eye. When she turned her head, she could see a newspaper emblazoned with a headline.

**Rumored Cult House Disappears; Neighbors Claim To Smell Smoke**

“That...that doesn’t mean she started the fire. People throw things through windows all the time.”

_ There was nothing left, just as it says on the page. Not even glass. None of the local residents saw it go up in flames. Does that sound like your typical Molotov? Or would that only make sense in the context of my acceptance of such a gracious, albeit tainted by the souls of the flawed good, offering? _

He had won. Casey hated to admit it, especially as her eyes filled with tears of awe in spite of her better senses, but He was right.

_ I knew you would come around, my child. And truth be told, being constantly beaten down by those whom I should hold natural control over has been exhausting and insulting. So, are you interested in hearing my offer? _

“If you can give me a damn good reason to bargain with Satan, I’m all ears.”

_ Scout’s honor. _

The phrase echoed in her mind in Kevin’s voice, and a muffled sob erupted from her throat.

_ Seriously, though, I can ensure that you, and Barry, and Jade, and Kat, all end up where you’re meant to be. And Patricia will earn what she deserves for her persecution of your co-conspirators as well as her sin of indifference in your assault. _

Casey mulled it over for a moment, hating herself for her inclination in the situation. Finally, she answered,

“One final question. If you’re her one true love, you know how she thinks.”

_ That is true. _

“So why didn’t she save me?”

_ She thought you had brought it upon yourself for your selection in romantic partner. But who is she to judge? Love, fury, curiosity—none of this is a choice. These are natural human states, and the fact that one woman harbors regret for her own experience of such does not make it wrong for others. You know the intensity of these things better than anyone, for you are a truly extraordinary empath and resilient warrior. _

Casey didn’t fall to her knees; she would not bow before evil incarnate. But she considered what he had said and realized that a prophet had nothing on a god. And if that prophet needed to feel divine retribution, then so be it.

“We have a deal.”


	35. Heaven Is Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “What beauty lies here in this pile of broken bones? Without you, I would never know.”
> 
> Particular TWs for boxing, gambling, supernatural elements, and desecration of a burial site

**_Crack!_ **

The impact of a boxing glove on a jaw reverberated throughout the glass-walled ring, mingling with the sound of cheers from outside. Kevin stepped back from his bleeding opponent, who spit out a tooth and moved in for another swing. This was greeted by a blow to the throat, then to the nose, and finally to the occipital lobe as the other fighter spun while reeling back.

“Three, two, one...KNOCKOUT! Tonight’s tournament victor is the one, the only, KEVIN COOKE!”

Kevin removed one glove, pulled out his mouth guard, and ran the heel of his palm over his clean-shaven scalp. The announcer approached him from the booth with a comically large microphone, and Kevin smiled for the cheering crowd.

“So!” the enthusiastic announcer began. “About how much do you think is in that jackpot?”

“Eh, I don’t know!” he chuckled. “Seeing a lot of green there, but it can’t be that heavy if you’re lifting it!”

“Well, it’s a damn good thing your arms and legs healed while you were in this neck of the woods, because your eyesight’s good for punching only!”

Kevin laughed out loud. “Do educate me on how much I’ve won tonight, then!”

“Well, I am excited to announce that you’ve won...TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS!”

The announcer grabbed Kevin’s wrist and raised his gloved hand into the air as the audience went wild. Out of all of the places he had lived in the past year, Chicago was easily his favorite; his first night there, he had been invited to what had been referred to as a boxing club, and once he was certain he wouldn’t break his limbs again, he joined the fights and made a living off of what he and other fighters had gambled. He was on the longest winning streak in the club’s history, and for once, the general public looked at his scars with admiration. As it turns out, delivering a swift uppercut did wonders as a distraction from one’s problems.

He had briefly considered finding an actual job, or at least gambling using cards rather than fists. However, he had stopped caring. Out of everything he experienced on a daily basis, getting punched hurt the least. He didn’t owe anybody his good behavior, and it had become easier to find glory in such lowly achievements than to try to live in dignity without…

“Is there anyone you’d like to dedicate this achievement to tonight?”

... _her._

She was there.

Kevin caught her gaze at the very front of the crowd. That dark hair, those fiery brown eyes, those rosy lips. He would recognize that face anywhere. And now, after a year on the run from his past, that face frowned at him in sorrow.

“I’d like to dedicate this to…” He stopped, his breathing shallowed, as her expression hardened and she dared him to say her name. “...Actually, nobody in particular! I’m just honored to be here!”

“Alright then! Great to have you as usual!” The announcer passed him the pot full of money, which he accepted. However, at this, she shook her head and pushed back through the mob that approached him.

Everyone was holding stuff for him to sign, shoving pens into his face, but his eyes were on one disappearing form. He forced his way through the swarm and followed her down the corridor that led to his locker room. Finally, he rounded the corner.

She was gone.

He almost called out her name, but the sounds refused to form on his tongue. Instead, he gathered the rest of his things, dressed himself, and strode out into the cool night air.

Kevin woke up in the early morning to nothing but pure whiteness.

At first, he thought he was going blind, but he soon realized that white puffs of mist were floating through his field of vision. He sat up abruptly in bed... _this isn’t my bed…_

“Kevin?”

He hastily twisted around and stumbled halfway to his feet. She was there again. Her only injuries were the scars that had existed before that fateful Sunday night and the large x-marks on her wrists. That wasn’t the strange part, though, so much as the fact that he could see them was; she donned a short-sleeved white blouse, a purple mesh length of fabric that tangled over her shoulders and around her arms, a flowing white high-low skirt, and tan flip-flops. Her hair was done in curls that draped over her shoulders, and her face showed only melancholy.

Kevin slowly climbed to his feet, trying to say her name yet failing once again. Fortunately, he didn’t have to, as she stepped forward and pressed her lips to his. Her hands gripped the back of his head as if her life depended on it, and, unlike whence had last seen her, her touch burned with life. Cautiously, his arms slid around her waist, hovering over the fabric of her shirt for a moment before closing in.

They made solid contact with her torso, and he pulled her close, biting her bottom lip and deepening the kiss. The dancing of tongues and exchange of body heat had become foreign to him in the time since the great escape, and he didn’t want to take any chances on her falling to ash in his arms. He took a step back to regain his balance, but on the unfamiliar terrain, this failed, and he landed on his back with Casey on top of him.

When he finally broke for air, she hadn’t disappeared. Instead, she was smiling with a cocktail of sadness and joy. Suddenly, his speech decided to work again.

“Casey.”

“You seem to be doing well for yourself,” she murmured, tightening her lips but continuing to smile.

The words felt like a stab to the heart, and he leaned his forehead up against hers and let a few tears escape. “Casey, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry I got you killed, and...and I’m sorry that I’m a fuck-up and that I’m putting myself at risk again and...God fucking dammit, I just missed living in a world with you in it. I didn’t know what to do so I regressed. I miss you so much.”

She tilted her head and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead before meeting his eyes again. “Kevin, it’s okay. I promise. I’m just so happy to see you again. We can work this out.”

He froze. “Work this out?”

She closed her eyes and adjusted so she was sitting on top of him, pulling him up with a hand around the back of his neck until they were sitting face to face. Her hands then shifted so they were cupping his face, and her eyes were filled with excitement.

“You’ve kept my stuff, right? I’m going to need it.”

“F-for what?”

“For when you come to get me.” 

Shock dropped over his face as he watched her reach under the neckline of her blouse and pull out a pen. As she removed the cap and lifted his wrist, he pushed her back slightly.

“Casey, you died a year ago!” he cried out. “Please, don’t give me hope from a dream!”

She huffed in amusement. “You think this is a dream? Well, how about I write something on your arm and prove it’s more than that?”

Kevin wanted so badly for this to be real, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how real she had looked during the hospital escape. Nevertheless, her eyes were filled with an ecstasy he hadn’t seen since her birthday, and his resistance crumbled like sand.

“Okay.”

She flashed a full grin and began to write. He watched incredulously as she worked, still not entirely sure what was going on.

“Casey,” he whispered, “how are you...here? Alive? In limbo? What are you?”

Casey chuckled without breaking focus. “I’m alive, Kevin. Or I will be when you come find me. Let’s just say, a little bit of black magic helped me out. Me and some others in the house.”

He processed for a moment. “You didn’t…”

“I absolutely did.” She returned the cap to the pen. “Because I never should have trusted a word Patricia said. Now. Find me. We can start over like we always wanted.”

“I…”

“...love you too. Lights out.”

His vision went black.

Kevin jolted awake in his bed at the seedy motel he hadn’t bothered to move out of and whipped his head around the room. It was eight-thirty in the morning, and everything was exactly as he had left it the prior night. In frustration, he raised his hands to rub the sleep from his eyes.

And then he noticed the writing on his forearm.

He hastily jerked up his wrist to read what had been scrawled in Casey’s handwriting. The first words he noticed were **St. Augustine’s Cemetery.** The second was a plot number.

_This is insane._

_When has that ever stopped you before?_

Like a whirlwind, he dressed himself before packing up everything he owned and throwing it in the trunk of a cheap red Camaro he had purchased from the side of the road in Cleveland. He didn’t bother pulling up to the motel’s main office, merely tossing the key card onto his bed. Where he was going, this lifestyle wouldn’t be needed.

A stop was made at a strip mall outside of Indianapolis. For one, he had another nine hours of nonstop driving ahead of him, and he picked up a large coffee. For another, he had to drop into a gardening store and buy a shovel.

Before long, he was on the road again, speeding just enough so that he could both shorten the trip and avoid being pulled over. He messed with the radio dial every five seconds before settling on something he recognized. Before long, he started to realize it was because several of the ballads from the night that was simultaneously the best and the worst of his life.

Traffic thickened once he crossed the Pennsylvania border, and he ordered his phone to find a new route, anything with a clear shot to the cemetery. The recalculated path was two hours longer, but seeing as it was all back roads, he vowed to drive it in one hour less.

Casey was waiting, and he refused to let her down ever again.

As he neared Philadelphia, the paranoia began to set in and the memories replayed. The good and the bad alternated, but there were far more of the latter than the former. In a couple of hours, it wouldn’t matter anyway. He could hold her again at last and never let her go, and everything would finally go as it was intended.

He finally saw the cemetery sign, but as it was now nine o’clock, the groundskeeper was starting to close the gate. Fortunately for Kevin, this was not the case for the fast food place next door, and he entered the driveway, finding a spot all the way in the back of the lot.

Deep breath in, deeper breath out. He was about to do something incredibly risky. But to have her back, it was worth it.

He retrieved the shovel from his trunk and hurried to the back corner of the fence around the parking lot. The shovel was tossed over first, followed by him climbing into the cemetery. He rolled up his jacket sleeve to reread the plot number and commit it to memory, then snuck down the different aisles with his shovel, careful to avoid the groundskeeper as he patrolled.

And then he saw it.

**IN LOVING MEMORY**

**Casey Cooke**

**2002-2020**

**Memorial Provided By Upper Merion Area High School Class of 2020**

His eyes welled up again at the sight of the headstone. _If only they had cared when she was alive. If only she had known sooner that she was never alone._ These two thoughts swirled in his head, both distracting him from the task at hand, until he finally shook them away and approached the plot. 

When he turned around to check for the groundskeeper before starting, he found him in ebullient conversation with three individuals. One was a blonde woman in a red dress; the second was a man in a feminine pantsuit with slicked black hair; the third was another woman that he may have mistaken for Casey if her silver eyes didn’t seem to pierce through him from such a long distance.

 _No more time to lose._ He plunged the shovel into the dirt.

Every five minutes, he would check over his shoulder, and every time, the groundskeeper was either elsewhere or talking with the three individuals Kevin had seen before. Interestingly enough, they wore different outfits each time, and their conversations with the man in charge never seemed to be consecutive, but the fact that he was digging up a year-old grave made the oddity absolutely meaningless, if not part of the black magic Casey had referred to just twelve hours ago.

**_Thunk!_ **

After an hour of digging, the shovel made impact with something that was definitely wood. Kevin scooped away as much dirt as possible from around the lid of the casket as possible. Staring down into the hole, he waited for any sign that he should turn back now.

 **_Thump-thump!_ **“Kevin?”

“Casey!” he cried out before wedging the tip of the shovel beneath the lid and starting to lever it down with all of his might. Soil funneled down into the hole he had dug as he pressed against it, but the lid was starting to open and her screams were becoming less muffled.

**_Chnk!_ **

With one final crank downward, the casket lid opened and started to open even more seemingly on its own. Casey pushed the lid open and coughed on the dust from the carnage of her grave. She looked exactly as she had in the white space, and Kevin struggled to not fall in as he slid down the dirt and joined her in the pit.

“C-Cas-Cas-“

She clutched him by the lapel of his jacket and pulled him in for a kiss, equally as passionate as the one from that morning. He pulled her gradually warming body close to his chest and started to climb sideways out of the pit. Every step made him slide slightly on the loose dirt, but eventually they were sitting on the grass by the headstone.

Casey broke for air and took him into a tight hug. “I missed you so much.”

He couldn’t speak, only feel. Her body enveloped by his, her warm breath as it tickled his neck, her hands stroking up and down his spine. She was alive. Finally, he regained control of his tongue and whispered into her ear,

“I love you. And I swear to God, I will do everything in my power to never let you down again.”

“Hey!”

Kevin’s neck twisted around to find the groundskeeper running towards the unearthed burial site. They had to go.

Casey was the first to stand, and she tugged Kevin to his feet. They sprinted for the fence, not caring about leaving the shovel behind. The police could dust it for fingerprints, but she would like to see them try to find its owner when they did so. They climbed over the fence and jumped into the car, taking off at a breakneck speed and gone before the cops even arrived on the scene.

“Where to?” Kevin asked as they pulled onto the interstate.

She thought for a moment.

“Somewhere they’ll never find us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading all the way to the end! Writing many of the graphic scenes was difficult, but I’m very proud of how my work came together in the end! Please comment and leave kudos!


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